iLove You So Now What?
by WhiteKnightro
Summary: They hook-up, they break-up, then they say, "I love you" WTF!  Whattup? Why did it happen and where might it be going?  You've read the best. Now read this. Not even iOAR will stop Seddie.
1. Prologue

**A/N**

**I continue to struggle with "iLove You" no, not the way guys who are scared to commit do, heck, I tell women I love them all the time. If you have ever ridden the bus with me you've probably heard me say it (and if you are the one who called the cops—hey, totally, my bad). No, I'm talking about the episode, "iLove You." I don't know if you watched it, but maybe some of you are in the same boat. I think Sam said it best at the end of "iLose My Mind" when she said: "So now what?"**

**Anyway, I thought I would try turning out something that addresses my concerns. You are reading the prologue of a multi-chapter story. Like most stories I write I have only a rough idea of where it will take me. The goal is to have a good time and maybe take some folks with me. **

**This one is me trying something new for me. I hope you stick around to see where we go.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly, but I imagine it generates a fair amount of money for whoever does. What I'm saying is: I would spend that money. Yeah buddy, oh the things I'd buy! If you think I'm insufferable now…**

**Okay, FanFic folk, are you ready to read one? Let's go…**

**iLove You So Now What? **

**Prologue: Have You Heard the News?**

The news of the break-up spread through the speed of 21st century technology. Texts, blogs, RSS feeds all carried the word. Sam and Freddie—Seddie had concluded. It expanded to two basic camps and then exploded into lots of sub-camps under each. The first basic camp was Ridgeway/Seattle made up of the people who actually knew Sam and Freddie. Their reactions were mixed with no clear majority.

Mrs. Marisa Benson: I'm just so glad he unloaded that gutter girl. Fredbear has too much potential.

DeShawn (Basketball) Benson: The games people play. It's old school brother, old school.

Gibby Gibson: I really hope she goes back to hitting him. Nothing against Freddie, but I've been bruised and limping because Sam needed some outlet for her natural meanness. I am not an outlet!

Spencer Shay: I'm not surprised that they broke-up but I don't think it's over, either. Those two have something powerful going on, always have. I smell something burning. No really, look over there!

T-Bo: Man, kids do stuff to each other. Crazy stuff. They just kids! I seen things that would knock you out! This is what kids do. They get together and break-up. It's soap opera, drama is part of high school.

Janice Bruckner: Mmmm. Freddie Benson. That vampire voice he does. It that future truck driver Puckett is dumb enough to let him go, he's mine.

Principal Ted Franklin: While I do not as rule comment on the personal relationship choices of students I must confess I was very pleased when Freddie and Sam began dating. I have thought they seemed very well suited for each other with each bringing needed characteristics for the opposite number. Relationships are however, by their nature highly illogical and are therefore subject to these kinds of disruptions.

Richard Avalon: Some things are supposed to be. What matters most is how we react.

Neville Papperman: I love it! I only wish I had caused it! Can you guess which rumors I started? I told them they would rue the day!

Dr. Timothy Dickman: Like all of us, Samantha Puckett has unresolved issues. Answers for her will be found in confronting those issues not running away.

Randy Charmin: Sam Puckett is really pretty but she's deadly! Benson is lucky he got out when he did.

Melanie Puckett: Oh Sam. Freddie is adorable. What did you do?

Pam Puckett: Who's Freddie?

Carly Shay: It's so sad! They worked so hard. I don't get it. They got past the tough parts. They don't talk about it too much but something feels wrong when I see them now. What I regret most is putting it on the show blog. I should know better than to put personal stuff on that, but fans had written in about how the show had changed since the really short show with the "Should Freddie and Sam date?" poll where I basically got them together in the first place. Anyway I wanted to explain where the show was at. If people have the facts they can make better judgments. Some fans didn't like the show after the dating started. It's true, we missed a show, and Freddie seemed really focused on Sam like with the Super Bra video. But maybe getting the fans involved was a mistake. Some of them seem to care too much about our personal lives. It's just a show.

The fans. That was the second significant camp with many sub groups and things got out of hand. Ridgeway/Seattle had its share of rumors but nothing loves a rumor like the Internet. The fans really let their imaginations run with the break-up. "Teams" formed around each reported reason for the break-up: Freddie cheated, Sam cheated, Sam was Pregnant, Sam was gay, Freddie was gay, Sam was Bi Polar, Freddie was into drugs, Sam was a cutter, Freddie hit Sam (that one sparked LOTS of discussion threads, with folks who thought she had it coming, versus those who said it couldn't happen because she'd pulverize him, with a few fans discussing in extremely ungraceful terms just how big a wuss Freddie really was) even the Freddie was pregnant reason took off with various fans doing ViewTube skits about Freddie's freakish condition. Production values were low and the humor was sophomoric. They got more hits than they deserved.

Across all camps, while the reactions ran the range from traumatized to indifferent, the only thing that was clear was this: Sam and Freddie as a romantic pairing had concluded. All anybody had left was their imagination. The truth, as is often the case, was elusive, very complicated and did not lend itself to easy explanation. In fact, nobody knew what the truth was. As we will see, not even Sam and Freddie.

**A/N**

**Lemme know what you thought if you get a minute. Not saying you have to write for a whole minute. Regardless, I will try to "update soon." Next up: Freddie's version.**


	2. The Cold Facts

**A/N**

**Thanks to those who favorited and alerted, and a special nod to those who took the time to read and review:**

**jhuikmn08, irishfan62, mbeseddie, Mary Rachel, Urias, DannySamLover20, Dwyn Arthur, harrypotterfan91, Mike2101, PeacePinkSeddie, Julefor, the Earl of Sandwich, oceanmistsupporter and afanofanfic.**

**My apologies for not writing back as is my practice. I will be responding to everyone as time allows. The Knightroverse swells with distraction and responsibilities. Insert some story about how I saved someone or prevented some terrible catastrophe here, your version might be cooler than mine. Hey, would you rather have the chapter or some lame note from me?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**iCarly**_**, everybody knows who does. Okay, that's not accurate. I'm sure there are lots of people who have never heard of Dan Schneider. But I'm really sure none of them are reading this.**

**Chapter 2: The Cold Facts**

It is a somber, still, Seattle Sunday, a place of lifeless grey wherein the chill air does not move. There is a mood of ashes and loss that clings to everyone and everything. Recent events have taken on a grim quality, feelings and memories are suddenly sharp, painful places. Laughter seems less likely than it did the day before, and over the entire day hangs a cloud of dread.

At least that is how Freddie Benson feels as he sits in his room staring. The object of his attention is a vast expanse of colored Post-It notes hung on one wall, almost from ceiling to carpet. Discarded slips litter the floor. His dry erase board is a mass of lines, straight lines and dotted lines connecting sticky notes and streams of text. It is a network of ideas, a tangible representation of a thought process. The room reeks with the smell of marker.

His head throbs, his empty stomach churns, his red eyes burn. He has been working The Problem since he woke up. Normally he came out of sleep slowly, but this Sunday his eyes snapped open with her on his mind.

_Sam._

_What did they do?_

When he tumbled into bed that morning he was a conflicting combination of electrically aroused and completely exhausted. Sleep came instantly as did wakefulness now. He remembered her in the elevator, then the studio, smelling her, holding her, kissing her, exploring her.

Resisting her.

Sam had usually been the aggressor in their make-out sessions but this morning she was hungry, hungry for him. He was a kind of meal, the way she went from calmly, sweetly kissing him to biting and licking like he was some long denied treat. It was hard for his rational mind to stay in charge. He was a seventeen year-old boy and the memory of his morning was physically obvious as he reflected. She was on him this morning, grabbing him, squeezing him, rubbing him.

Daring him?

What they were doing, the country they were exploring was not the real estate of a couple mutually breaking up. His mind and his body had never been more in conflict than this morning. The girl in his arms was groaning, whispering things in his ear when her tongue wasn't busy with other pursuits. Something deep inside him was demanding, conniving, pleading for him to Do It. The image of a tiny angel on one shoulder and a crimson devil on the other was no longer a comic cliché it was as real as a cracked tooth.

But his mind, always his best angel, won. There was no way her first time would be on the floor of the _iCarly_ studio. She was too important, her first time had to be given special attention. Was that really his mind in control or something else? Finally he told her, "No," and slowly, haltingly they collected themselves. Because of the hour he put her on the Shay sofa with a chaste kiss in the dark. He pulled a blanket around her then stumbled, swollen, deeply unsatisfied across the hall.

Now, hours later, he sits in his room working The Problem.

Sam has not called nor texted. She has made no effort to reach him. Since they started dating she always contacted him, it had become something he liked. Something he now missed. The thought of contacting her intimidates him. They had agreed to break-up, to stop dating and that prospect, suddenly real and ugly sends his logical mind into an overdrive fueled by a deep, surprising pain. Why did it happen? Was it real?

The knock at the door irritates him, the voice on the other side makes him roll his eyes, "Fredbear?" his mother calls.

"Still studying mom."

"When did you eat last?"

"I've got some fruit in here," he says. He eyes the cheetah fur pattern on the banana and the withered crone skin of the grapes in a bowl. remnants of his failed effort to make Sam "eat healthy."

"Freddie, is Sam Puckett in there?"

"No, mom."

"Okay, I'm going to the store. You should take a break."

"Gotta get into a good school, mom."

"I Love you," she says.

"I love you too," and that exchange has an echo that causes a shiver. He shakes his head and returns to The Problem.

He needs to understand it. Anything he can understand he can deal with. He has spent the day breaking down what he and Sam said to each other in the elevator and what happened afterward. It makes no sense. His analytical brain replays the events, his need to understand a response to the growing fearful sensations squirming inside him. His thoughts are expressed in the curious modern art project that his room has become. The crudeness of his analysis offends his geek mind. He wants a digital solution. In the _Man of Iron _movies billionaire genius Terry Strong works with his super computer, Jarmen, to address the problems the hero is faced with. Instead of Post-Its and white board are 3-D holograms that Terry controls with his hands, Terry issues questions and demands of the computer who responds back with an urbane, vaguely British accent until a solution is achieved. Queue theme music and montage sequence.

Freddie desperately wants a computer he can talk to. He'd name it Leonard after the actor that played his favorite logical alien. Freddie wants theme music and a montage to complete the work before him. He wants the girl in his arms scene. Freddie's eyes narrow and he swallows hard before saying to the room.

"Leonard?"

_Online sir. _He imagines the voice responding from some strange wiring closet in his brain.

"Run it," he says to his own intellect.

Freddie's eyes speed across the rainbow of slips papering his wall, his mind distilling and compiling every notation, fact, possibility and observation. Finally, Leonard "speaks."

_The conclusion is inescapable sir, you were dumped._

Freddie jerks as if slapped then rallies against the idea.

"We agreed that the break-up was mutual," his voice is hard, his finger points straight ahead.

_Considering your current state that seems unlikely. There is a substantial probability that you are now experiencing a delayed reaction._

"We broke up, correct?"

_Unquestionably, sir._

"What about the mood app?"

_Specify._

"The mood app said she was in love with me," Freddie's tone is argumentative. He does not like how the facts are lining up. He feels cornered.

_That is old data. New factors have been introduced into the environment. It is unlikely the mood app would produce the same results today._

"Meaning she got to spend time with me together as a couple and her love…"

_Was not sustained after prolonged exposure to you in a romantic relationship._

That hurts. It opens up a dark span inside him, a tender place filled with tiny cuts, a space that he keeps tucked away and does not expose. For the first time he questions his personal value, as a person, as a man.

"I've never understood it," he confesses aloud, "the relationship I mean. Not from the beginning. I've looked at it a lot. For years she treated me like she hated me. Then the lock-in and The Kiss."

_It is not unusual for persons experiencing attraction to tease and engage in oppositional exchanges._

"Children do that. She punched me, lobbed fruit at me."

_I believe the game is called "Boomba."_

Freddie nods in agreement, "About last night. We broke up. Why didn't I feel that bad when it happened?"

_Greatest probability is that you did not understand the ramifications of the exchange._

Freddie runs his hands through his hair, rubs his temples, "We agreed to break-up, then told each other: 'I love you' then made out for hours. We set a deadline of midnight and overshot it by a wide margin." His hands extend to illustrate the length. "Sam really wanted to keep going-with the make out I mean, I kinda had to put the brakes on. 'Cause you don't break-up then go all the way for the first time, right? Who would do that?"

_Extensive possibilities exist, sir, depending on the psychological profiles involved. Do you wish me to elaborate?_

"No."

Freddie's raw eyes continue to fly over the notes, consuming the content, evaluating the facts. The sheets contain his memory of what he and Sam said and did the quotations and events in chronological order with multiple alternate meanings written on different colored notes. Through sheer deductive reasoning he can conceive only one logical conclusion:

"Sam really wanted to break up with me."

_The probability is extremely high._

"So why do I feel so bad, now?"

_You love her._

"And she loves me."

_Unlikely._

Freddie's eyes snap shut. He is surprised by his reaction as the idea that Sam does not love him is "voiced," "Elaborate."

_Careful consideration of the facts as you have organized them suggests that she wanted out. She could not 'love you' and want out._

For an instant Freddie wants to pound the wall, wants to rip the notes down and scream. He stands for a long time, his hands balled into white fists.

"I asked her if it was mutual_."_

_Non sequiter. Your current emotional state indicates your true feelings. A mutual state does not exist any longer—if it ever did._

Freddie shakes with unbelief as the whole picture becomes clear, like a monster whose full dimensions astounds and terrifies as it exits a fog. This girl abuses him for years, convinces him to date her and somehow makes him fall in love with her, then just as suddenly she changes her mind. If he saw it on television he wouldn't believe it. The irony is as clear and jagged as broken glass.

His eyes follow the chronology of master notes, the root process of this issue; each labeled appropriately listing the key points:

**Fact:** "At each other's throats" until The Kiss.

**Fact:** Sam put herself in a mental facility after The Kiss.

**Fact:** He pursued her to the hospital and decided he wanted to date her.

**Fact:** They started dating.

**Fact:** Extremely turbulent exchanges paired with substantial physical affection both private and public.

**Fact:** Many rough areas and arguments settled.

He ignored the litany of rough areas that issued in colored tendrils like parade streamers.

**Fact:** Carly said, "Sam loves you." Sam's response: "It's sorta true" (sorta or kinda? Can't remember. Both words are underlined as being critical points.)

**Fact:** They are having fun and enjoying this new development.

Impression created: Sam and Freddie are working as a couple.

**Fact:** Recently their coupleness had shifted gears, turned some corner, cooled off a little? They spent time doing things without the other (as healthy couples do).

Example: The Training Bros commitment.

Fact? Sam had to go to dinner with her mom? Then shopping? When she explained to Carly why she wasn't with Freddie her voice was strange.

Possibility: Sam was lying, sending signals that she did not want to spend more time with him. Was she thinking of the break-up then? Did her feelings change?

**Fact:** She was visibly upset over his failure to smuggle hams into the jail.

Reading that fact makes him shake his head, what was he thinking when he did that? How deeply had she penetrated into him that he would do such a wild, illegal thing? He ponders the depth of her impact on his life, and then continues his review of the notes.

**Fact:** They had a tense exchange over the train club and jail events.

**Fact:** They both apologized but the tension remained. Was this the final argument that pushed her over the edge?

**Fact:** They overheard Carly telling Spencer and Jenna that they, Spencer and Jenna, were taking a connection they had because they had known each other for a long time and were trying to make it into a boyfriend/girlfriend thing.

**Fact:** that observation landed hard for both Sam and Freddie. The analog was obvious. Sam and he had known each other for years, almost all their lives and no one who saw them could ever miss the connection.

Possibility: They were trying to force a connection they shared into a boyfriend/girlfriend thing.

What he needs is to play it back on ViewTube like some show where you watch an episode over and over until you are satisfied. He wonders what he failed to retain from that night. What key thing has he missed?

_Research is clear that human memory is not reliable._

"Not now, Leonard." Freddie's eyes are now on the core of the problem board. His stomach tightens as he reviews the material there.

**Fact:** Sam stopped the elevator in order to talk. Something was on her mind.

Observation: Sam acted on how she was feeling.

Possibility: She needed to make her move.

**Fact:** I said: "She's not talking about us."

**Fact:** Sam's response? "I know, but…"

And the slide downhill begins here. He rearranges notes and wipes lines away, redrawing new connections. They talked about forcing a connection which led her to say this:

"I just don't know if you and me really click-that way."

That statement is circled, starred and underlined with various colored inks.

His notes explode around that comment, with examples of how they do click, have always clicked. He grinds his teeth as he checks each example for accuracy.

Possible Conclusion: She was trying to get out of something that didn't work for her.

Freddie throws his head back and takes a breath.

"She wouldn't say she had doubts if she wasn't thinking it."

_I concur, sir. Perhaps it would be beneficial for you to relate the next events as you recall them._

Freddie sighed, his eyes felt heavy and his heart was beating rapidly, the way it did when he was about to give a speech, when he was nervous—scared. But he had no audience. His room was the geek temple it had always been. "We talked about The Kiss and how intense it was. She seemed worried that it was just intense. I told her it was fun too, but my brain was on track. On some level I… knew." He stops there.

_Knew what, sir?_

"She wanted out."

Those words seem to hang in the air with dirty ice icicles drooping off them. He stares at them as if they are really there the ice wet and numbing to the touch.

"I don't know why. Heck, I don't know why it started. She raised the point that the idea of Sam and Freddie as a couple put her in a mental hospital.

_Perhaps you have never thought hard enough about Sam's issues._

"So, we talked some about her getting more normal or me getting more abnormal. We laughed a little. It was a totally awkward exchange. It was awkward because it was fake, something Sam and I almost never are to each other. That's the cool part of us. We are straight up. Being a couple put us in a new place that we had to work at.

"Did she get tired of working at it?" he scribbles this on a note and adds it to the paper decorating the wall like the feathers of some giant, exotic bird.

"Anyway, to confirm what we both knew had happened, she asked if we just broke up and I said, 'Feels like it,' because I was pretty sure that's what she wanted to hear.

"Okay, just to be careful I asked if it was mutual and she agreed that it was. She made a joke about telling people she dumped me and broke my nerdy heart."

Freddie's eyes go wide as that idea bursts to life behind his eyes; his hands slap more Post-Its down. He furiously writes out her words as he remembers them.

"She said it as a joke, but she must have been thinking about dumping me prior to saying this." It is a eureka moment, a last component to a puzzle, but the victory leaves a terrible taste in his mouth. "I could tell something else was going on and this was it," he taps the note for emphasis. "I joked back that that was fair. I didn't argue with her. Arguing was what we did best and we didn't do that. I'm not sure what I should have done. I didn't get a chance to think about what was happening. I'm just doing that now.

"I suppose she was trying to let me down easy." That thought has a strange smell to it. "Weird, the girl that made bringing pain into my life a hobby ended up not wanting to hurt me because I didn't measure up in some way."

He writes this note:

Possibility: I didn't measure up in some way.

He is surprised by how much that note hurts to write. His hand quivers and his vision blurs with moisture. His marker stained hands wipe his eyes.

"That's what it boils down to, right? I'm guessing having me as a boyfriend wasn't that great."

_That would seem to be the take away sir. I acknowledge your disappointment. As mitigation I offer that you don't have much experience in romantic matters._

"She hasn't dated that many guys."

_That will change. She is quite attractive. The probability of there being someone she has identified as a new prospect is high._

That thought is sharp and hot in his skull. Then he steps to the board and writes:

Observation: All of this has been about Sam changing. Examples:

She kisses me, someone she "hated."

She is dressing differently (where did she get the money for that leather jacket? Do I want to know?)

She stops hitting me.

She dates me.

She makes out with me (a lot).

She apologizes to me multiple times.

He starts a new line on the crowded board. Observation: I haven't changed much at all. I'm still just a dull, normal AV geek.

He says aloud, "I guess I fell behind. I couldn't keep pace with her changes. She spent enough time with me as her boyfriend and determined I wasn't what she was looking for." He stands, marker suspended in the air, looking at his theory coming together, like some hell train that will grind him to goo under flaming wheels.

"I never should have taken her to Train Club."

_Some other event would have performed the same function, sir._

"I'm an idiot."

_Standardized test scores do not validate that statement._

"I'm talking about with women.

_You are inexperienced._

"I have a lot of bad experience." He plops down in the padded desk chair. "But I have to be who I am, right? If she doesn't like that guy, then I have to find someone who does."

_Everyone breaks up with their first love, sir. This is simply your turn._

He sighs, then adds, "Yeah, better dust off the vampire act."

He turns from the board and clicks on the mail button on his computer desktop. Several new messages freshen the screen but nothing from Sam.

"Should I call her? Ask her if she really wants this?"

_I do not recommend such a course. She clearly raised the subject in order to conclude the relationship. She ended it because that is what she wanted. If you contact her and ask her to try again what would be response? Nothing has changed, only your awareness of your feelings. That is not sufficient. _

Freddie examines some notes on his desk. This handful does not fit. "Leonard."

_Online sir._

"After we agreed to break up we said, 'I love you' to each other. How does that fit?"

_Insufficient data. _

"Was she lying?"

_The possibility exists. We have extensive evidence of her expertise in that area. However she also seems to have lost the desire to hurt you in a substantial manner. It is also possible that her meaning differs from yours._

"What did I mean when I told her I loved her?"

_The full meaning is still coming to light. Your investment is much greater than you initially believed. This started as something fun. For you, it has evolved._

"And for her?"

_She has not called. She has not texted or IM'ed. It is close to twelve hours since your last contact with her. If her feelings mirrored yours in this matter she would have reached out. The conclusion that she has moved past her attraction to you is highly supportable by available evidence._

Freddie imagines calling her, telling her that he wants to try again, but he imagines her hesitation, her stuttering answer, "Gee Freddie, I…I…"

And that is as far as his effort to contact her goes._  
><em>

Freddie feels something dark and cold settle around him. "When Sam was groping me like I was a ham, I kept thinking: _This is breaking up? This isn't so bad. We should break-up all the time. _ I couldn't be sure what Sam was trying to do, but, well, like everything else about our relationship our break-up made no sense."

Freddie stepped back to the board and wrote:

Final conclusions:

Sam was changing.

Sam thought I had something she needed

Sam reached out to me

Sam either got what she needed, or I didn't have it to give.

Sam broke-up with me.

If she had any second thoughts about the break-up she would call.

What I meant by "I love you" is not what Sam meant if she meant it at all.

The facts were all there, and he had reached a reasonable explanation, but his quest to understand it did not lead him to feel any better now.

He wrote this question on the board:

What are we now?

"So what's the difference now? I guess that we don't date. I think that's the difference. I think we're still friends, we will still talk-I think. I haven't seen her. I think we are going to be friends who used to date. I don't like that, I'm not sure even HOW to do that."

He scribbles another note:

**Fact:** I'm really hoping the hitting doesn't start again.

He smiles as he reads that one.

"How am I supposed to act?"

_You will have to conduct yourself as gentleman, sir, the way you were raised. You will have to be her friend._

Freddie does not respond. As he always does he begins to plan, to envision a variety of futures of interacting with this latest version of Sam, the one that didn't love him but respected him enough not to hurt him. He thinks about going to the fire escape where they first kissed but instead he sits, the fire escape is the past. He needs to move ahead to the future.

He continues to sit, his aching head in his hands, unmoving, listening to the water run through the pipes in the walls, he hears the hum of his computer fans, the ding sound as something hits his network firewall, above, the sound of someone walking the floor causes thumping and creaking. Strangely he can hear music, far away, from another apartment maybe, something sad, a voice with no words, a collection of piano sounds, strings, and most clearly a solitary horn blowing, mournfully, full of unfulfilled longing and something Freddie can only call loss. A stream of Sam rolls over him and he is swept into a current of memories where her abuse of him is gone, where there is only a beautiful recollection of something precious that slipped away because he wasn't smart enough, funny enough, special enough to keep her. Freddie Benson sits listening as the sad music seems to get louder and clearer.

Outside, the sun lowers in the western sky behind a wall of clouds, the only indication it has ever been overhead at all is the steady, implacable spread of darkness.

**A/N**

**So, is Freddie right? Did Sam dump him? He's a logical, bright guy. He seems sure. Did he miss something? What was it Principal Franklin said in the Prologue?**

**Next up? What happened to Sam that Sunday? The working title is: "iSleep with Sam."**

**Also, I've started uploading non-fanfic stuff over at FictionPress. Check it out when you get sick of tired, slick, professional writers like King, Grisham, the list is long and you know the names. Oprah, are you out there? I can do this stuff full time with a grant from you. Just sayin…**


	3. iSlept with Sam

**A/N**

**Thanks to those who favorited and alerted, and a special nod to those who took the time to read and review the previous chapter:**

**purplehAM138, irishfan62, DannySamLover20, Dwyn Arthur, Mike2101, oceanmistsupporter, mizkntuhke, Darsnider, Urias, afanoffanfic ,jhuikmn08**, **julefor, and harrypotterfan91.**

**I think I've caught up with correspondence. If I missed you—my apologies. Some of you have turned off messaging so I can't respond. You should re-think that. Not that hearing from me is life changing (I'm told that it is, but I talk to myself all the time and my life is pretty much the same every day). But being in contact with people is way cool. Delete the mean and keep the good stuff that comes in.**

**Several of you have expressed your own opinions about what happened after "iLove You" and I applaud that. I don't suggest that what I write here is definitive. My goal is to make this story a bridge between what happened in "iLove You" and the two chums we saw in "iQ." As always I'll follow the story where it takes me , but Dan the Man and his crew could write something in "iStill Psycho" or after that will blow what I do here into digital rubble. Fortunately I wear a helmet and pads when I write. **

**I have accepted a flattering invitation from The Cabal to join their ranks. If you have not read their work you are missing out because they are a collective of talented writers. I will do my best not to drag them down. **

**Insider's tip: check out: "Spencer Knew it All Along" by oceanmistsupporter. It's worth some of your time.**

**Disclaimer: **_**iCarly**_** is the property of others, in fact, so is the laptop I'm typing on and the network I store this document on. I own the table I sometimes type on, but I'm making payments on the house I'm writing in. Man, when the camera pulls back this property stuff is complicated.**

**Chapter 3: iSlept with Sam**

Saturday night arrived at Bushwell Plaza as it always did, on time, anticipated by almost everyone with pleasure. No one knew how dark and hard it would get. No one knew how the night would become a thick, greasy shadow billowing into rooms, blanketing most occupants in their deep slumber. Only one person could not embrace the darkness and sleep. The gloom pressed down on her, choked her, something about the inky solitude was hurtful, frightening, it seemed to complement the grim shade inside her. Her heart knew no rest. She tossed and twisted on the sofa, alone, uncertain, hurt, a terrible sadness keening inside her. Finally she rose up in the blackness seeking comfort-a friend.

Carly Shay awoke when she felt the room change. The shift came as the hall door opened and the blade of light that cut the darkness was sufficient to stir her. She slept more lightly with her "Snore No More" ventilator in place, so she felt the movement, heard the determined steps in the hall, the rattle of the knob turning, the slight squeal of the door opening then clicking closed plunging the room back into black. She opened her eyes but with almost no light the view barely changed. There were small pricks of light from devices around the room. Her clock numbers glowed dull green to her left. She squinted as something moved knowingly in the dim expanse. Her semi-engaged mind ran through the possibilities. Was it Spencer? Why would he creep around? Sam and Freddie NEVER crept. If it was them it would be like a train driving through complete with whistles. Honestly, if it was Gibby with some new animal surprise…

_OMG! _It was on the bed!

OMG! Some ONE was on her bed!

Her bed was off limits. Everyone knew that. Only Sam and Freddie had ever invaded that space.

She felt the mattress depress as someone climbed on, the springs creaked with the addition of weight. Carly's heart was fluttering, her breath shallow and rapid. This was serious.

Her eyes pressed shut, her teeth clenched; she tensed as someone, someTHING unknown lay down on the spacious plane of mattress. Weirdly she remembered how Harly, her grand dad's great Dane would do this, clamber on the guest bed and stretch out. Headlines rolled through her head, she imagined talking to the police, checking a line-up for the man who… It was too awful to imagine. She had to stay calm, she would scream, scream for Spencer. Her heart slamming, Carly spun under the covers and scrambled for the light switch ready to defend herself.

"Carls don't," a voice said.

She halted mid crawl, "Sam?" the voice was Sam. Sam was the intruder? Relief and anger wrestled inside Carly.

"Yeah," Sam responded. It was eerie, Sam's bodiless voice speaking from the foot of the bed.

Something else vied for Carly's attention. The sound. Sam's voice, the sound was wrong somehow. Carly felt confused, out of it. Her heart was still smashing against her ribs.

Carly removed her ventilator mask. "I'm gonna get the light," she said.

"Don't!" it was a desperate request, then, as an afterthought, "Please?"

Carly halted; she couldn't put her finger on what was wrong with the voice. Even adrenalized she was still sort of asleep, in the deep dark of her room this conversation was like those old radio shows she listened to in history class. No pictures just sound. The artificial blindness gave birth to strange thoughts. What if this wasn't Sam? What if it was some Sam imitator who had been stalking the brunette and picked tonight to make his move?

She shook the crazy thinking loose. This wasn't new, Sam and Freddie had marched into her space at spooky hours before, what time was it now? Green numbers said 3:36. Great, Sam and Freddie had another fight_._ She spoke not bothering to cloak her frustration, "I thought we agreed that I didn't have to settle…"where was Freddie? What was the tremor on the bed?

Unable to see her friend, only vaguely aware of her location because of the dip in the mattress, she said into the night space "Sam, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'," the tone was low, broken. Carly finally pinpointed the sound. This was not angry Sam. There was a wounded, vulnerable vibration in the darkness. This was a Sam Carly never got to see. NO ONE got to see, but that Carly always knew lived in some tiny, cold cave inside her best friend. Much of Sam had been built to shield this place.

Carly shifted her position and reached out to the shadow. When she connected the tremors were unmistakable. The discovery shocked her, turned over some internal stone and fear scattered like tiny insects in her belly.

"Sam, honey, what's wrong?"

The silence that swallowed the question was obvious and unnatural like a wrecked car on a pile of ancient boulders. "Sam?" she said again more acutely aware of her own fear. Sam was the strong one, never really afraid, always ready for a fight. Whoever was gathered in a ball might not be recognizable even if Carly could see. More impaired vision thoughts tumbled across her consciousness as Carly remembered a horror movie where the monster could look like anybody but just before it killed the victim would see the monster's real, horrible face. Carly hated those movies.

Carly shook off the fear, slipped in beside her friend, nestling close. Sam's trembling was powerful and tiny sniffles were flittering in the air.

Carly dragged the comforter over them both and drew Sam into her, "Hey, talk to me, did your mom do something?" She had seen Sam reach levels in the neighborhood of this one because of her mom. Maybe she couldn't go to Freddie with this. Maybe they weren't close enough yet.

A terrible silence issued out of the huddled girl swallowing all conversation. The emptiness seemed to spill out of Sam consuming any other activity around it.

"Sam, you're scaring me, what happened?"

"I trusted him," she said into the comforter, her words tiny, barely audible.

"What? Sam, I'm not following. Did Freddie hurt you?" The thought was so alien she could not say it without smiling.

As if reading Carly's mind Sam made a dismissive laugh, "Right," but her voice cracked, suggesting that the granite in her attitude was flawed, unable to stand and crumbling under obscene pressure.

_Freddie did do something. _"What did Freddie do?"

"Nothing," Sam's voice was half bite, half bitten, part fury part despair.

"If Freddie did something you have to talk to him."

"I did." Those words came out like cold steel and stood solidly in the darkness. For some reason Carly imagined Sam trying to build something in a furious storm where all the pieces tumbled about in the wind.

"What did you talk about?"

Carly's question flew into the shrouded air like birds vanishing from sight toward the horizon, getting smaller until there was no evidence they had ever existed.

Carly spoke again, "Did you and Freddie fight?" _Do you and Freddie breathe? _She thought.

"Yeah," the steel was gone replaced by a little girl sound. Carly pictured a puffed lip and eyes looking away. "I mean, no."

"Which was it?"

"We broke up," Sam said.

Carly was surprised at how those words landed in her heart. Deep disappointment sprang up. That her two friends had ever hooked up amazed her; that they continued to build a relationship as something other than opponents seemed incredible, but somehow very right. Each day they were together seemed new, filled with possibility. Now, it was over as suddenly as it had begun. She couldn't say why, but sadness bubbled within her. Something told Carly this development was real. It was not high school, it wasn't teenage drama. She couldn't say why exactly, maybe it was the trembling, the black room and the sensation of loss. Some deep depth had been sounded within her best friend. Carly rallied, pushed back against the harsh possibility that this was serious.

"You guys fight all the time. In the morning this will be better," Carly assured her, stroking Sam's shoulder.

"ee didn't fight," Sam said softly, distantly.

"What?" Carly asked. Did she say, "We didn't fight"?

"If you and Freddie didn't fight what happened?"

This time the silence hardened. Carly tried a few more times to prompt Sam to speak but the Sam shadow that shook the bed with tremors absorbed all the questions like a sponge. The shaking reminded Carly of when she was little and Spencer had an infection. The fever made him shake and rattle his bed.

Finally, Carly rested her hand on Sam's shoulder, slowly rubbing it until the trembling stopped and the sniffling was replaced with light, slightly congested snores. Carly felt the perspiration on Sam's neck, more she could smell Freddie on Sam's clothes, his aftershave. It was strange to have his presence here like that, almost like a ghost.

Something huge had happened tonight. Since the time of the lock-in things had been strange-a departure from the way things had always been. Sam kissing Freddie so unexpectedly, Sam, so unsure of her own feelings she put herself in an institution, Freddie actually kissing her on the show in front of millions, the dating, the fighting, a sense of some new relationship being negotiated slowly and painfully but ultimately successfully. Why was it over? She was just starting to figure out how it had started. Things had changed, with Gibby trying to buddy up or whatever with her, Sam clobbering Gibby instead of Freddie, Spencer and Jenna, well no, Spencer was pretty much the same, dependably unpredictable artist brother she loved. She wasn't about to wish for a normal brother again. She had learned that lesson.

She remained with her silent, finally slumbering friend. Eventually she too slipped into sleep awakened occasionally by Sam's talking and crying out. Each time Sam did so Carly would sooth her with gentle squeezes and rubs. One utterance from Sam went like this: "something, something, you too."

When they got up, Carly was going to get to the bottom of this.

**A/N**

**Will Carly figure this out or are things gonna get more complicated? Man, what is Sam so bent out of shape for? Isn't this what she wanted? Freddie proved logically (sort of) that Sam wanted to end the relationship, right? Oh, I see you out there with your arguments about logic and emotion. Seems to me the mystery has gotten deeper. Sadly, it's gonna be a while before we get behind Sam's eyes on this one. Next up is the chapter with the working title: "Sunday Morning Coming Down."**

**If you are so inclined, leave a review. **

**Hey, if I don't post before the 25****th****, be sure to have a Merry Xmas or preferred holiday for the season.**

**Best Always, Knightro.**


	4. The Sunday that Sucked

**Thanks to those who favorited and alerted, and a special Knightro nod to those who took the time to read and review:**

**TheWrtrInMe, irishfan62, DannySamLover20, Mike2101, oceanmistsupporter, afanoffanfic, jhuikmn08, Urias, julefor, Moviepal, Dwyn Arthur and pigwiz.**

**I hope everyone had a great Christmas holiday however you choose to celebrate it or the season.**

**Hey, if you get minute and "iLove You" is on your mind, check out, "iWant to Change the Reflection" by jhuikmn08. A nice holiday treat.**

**Disclaimer: Dan Schneider owns iCarly and when I think about it, I don't envy him that, though it's probably not the worst burden to shoulder, either. **

**Chapter 4: The Sunday that Sucked.**

Daylight arrived on Sunday and the darkness reluctantly rolled back, the darkness outside anyway. For Sam Puckett Saturday night was a bad dream, a terrible nightmare where you just want to open your eyes and feel relieved that it didn't really happen. The problem for Sam was that her eyes were open and her Saturday night from Hell was achingly real. There was no mistaking the regret left over from another Puckett bad call.

She had snapped awake when Carly got up. For such a skinny chick Carly crashed around like she was trying out for the wrestling team. Sam's fingers ran over the cool sheets of the bed. Months ago when they built this room she jumped on Freddie on these very sheets. Sam was aware by that time that she wanted something more from Freddie. She wanted to pounce on him. She had wanted to do that for some time. That was hard to reconcile with the way she had lived her life. It made her so mad, the awareness that her abuse of Freddie Benson had been an excuse to connect with him to make him react, to pay attention to her. Now, this morning, once again Sam had to wrestle with something awful where Freddie Benson was concerned. She was so tired of fighting. Fighting with him, fighting her stinking, hateful attraction to him, then the incredible excitement of dating him (amazing but true, their days as a couple had profoundly affected her—changed her and she hated that too).

The memory of last night was so sharp it cut to handle it. Why in the world did she do it? They had cleared so many hurdles and had grown so close… she stopped that thinking in its tracks. But shame rolled over her like a wave of dirty water on the beach. After her mistake she had thrown herself at Freddie, been rejected then came bawling and gasping like some losing pageant girl to Carly. How much more could she fail? What other mistakes could she make? She took a deep breath and began to gather her strength as she prepared to go downstairs. She wanted to just lie here a few minutes more. And why couldn't she? What good thing was waiting for her anywhere on Earth? She had nowhere to go, nowhere to be.

Downstairs, Carly Shay sat at the counter on the edge of the kitchen reading posts on the iCarly chat community. She only posted on the official site that Freddie ran, but sometimes she followed others' links out to the other sites. She made notes on what she found, jotting down skit ideas inspired by, or outright submitted by the fans online. There were a LOT of other sites. In addition to commentary people uploaded videos, songs and even made up stories about the various iCarly players. Some were patently outrageous, some extremely well done; so many of the communications showed a kind of vested interest that perplexed Carly.

Right now, however, she was furious. While most viewers were respectful and flattering in their admiration, a small percentage went over the line. One writer, NightTerror, had been leading a kind of campaign since Freddie first kissed Sam on air. He claimed that the show had gone horribly wrong since the two had hooked-up. He was putting together a petition to boycott the show until Freddie and Sam (Seddie?) stopped dating. Carly shook her head. How insane was that?

"Hey kid," Spencer Shay said strolling, unshaven in his adult Spider Man UnderRoos past his younger sister.

"Robe please, Sam is upstairs," Carly said in a monotone, "And I'm not six years old anymore, either."

Spencer made an exaggerated, put-upon face, and gave an over-the-top plodding, slump shouldered walk back to his room. He emerged again a moment later wearing a scarlet satin robe with white fur cuffs and fur trimmed hood.

"Worshiping the devil at the polar ice cap?" Carly asked as she skimmed a particularly poorly spelled comment.

"Socko gave it to me."

"Glad you didn't buy it."

Spencer let that go while Carly asked, "Weren't you wearing pajamas last night?"

"Yes."

"You changed from your pajamas to your underwear before going to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"No."

Carly had had thousands of these conversations with him. She pulled the handle on the emergency exit and bailed on this one. If she continued this he would surely ask her about how many pairs of shoes she owned. Either that or something was going to burst into flame.

Spencer wandered into the kitchen.

"Better break out the Samergency bacon," she advised him.

"Trouble in Puckettville?" he called back, drinking juice out of the carton.

"I think so, and eww! I drink that juice too."

"Don't, I just drank out of it."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Yo brotha loves you, yo," Spencer made a kind of gang/rap hand gesture from outer space. Carly imagined blinking letters that said, "White Guy."

"So, what happened with Sam?" he asked

"Y'know how I got Sam and Freddie together?" Carly answered.

There was a long pause, "Is that how you remember it?"

"That's how it was."

"Uhm, granted I was being tortured or wearing fake boobs when a lot of the big moments took place, but I don't think you 'got them together,' I think they made most of the important steps on their own."

"Whatever, they broke up last night."

"What did Sam do?" he asked, opening a cabinet.

"Why does it have to be Sam who 'did something'? Maybe Freddie messed up."

"Sure, that could happen, hey, look, the sun is coming up in the west. What are the odds? Even so, what does that have to do with you?"

"Well, I need to talk to Freddie if I'm going to fix this."

"Fix it?" He looked back at her, "Why is that your job?"

"I'm who they go to for relationship help."

"And that made you so very happy."

"Well, they've worked too hard; I'm not going to let them throw away such a cute couple thing."

"I agree they're a cute couple on some fronts, but relationships, great ones, are deeper than cute."

"You don't think they should be together?"

"I don't think it's any of my business or yours. It needs to work on its own—or not." Spencer started pulling out his griddle surface for the stove, and lots of batter mix. Feeding Sam was like saying "Ethiopia is stopping by for brunch."

"So what do you know about the break-up?" he called to her.

"Not much. Sam came into my room at 3:30 this morning. She wasn't very Samish." That was an understatement; her friend had been in a rare emotional riot. Carly wondered what had happened, wanted to get the facts. Sam and Freddie had come together and done something incredible. They had forged a new relationship but last night some misstep had turned it into a smoking crater, something much greater than the usual Scooby Doo level mystery that life seemed to present to them. Carly had to get to Freddie. She would fix this like she always did. She HAD put them together, and they wouldn't walk away from everything they had overcome. She would not allow it on her watch.

At that moment the sound of footsteps cut Carly off. Sam descended the stairs. Her hair seemed combed with a rag and her wrinkled blouse spilled over her jeans. She was barefoot and clutching her Pear phone.

"Hey," Carly said, "Morning."

"Yeah, that explains the light," Sam replied. She walked into the kitchen, pulled a stool up to the work surface. The message was clear. She had done her part. She had shown up. Now the food needed to arrive.

"Pancakes and bacon, coming up," Spencer said with a clear understanding of his obligations. He watched Sam, the concern obvious to his sister who knew him but invisible to Sam if she was even paying attention. He busied himself preparing the pound of hickory smoked bacon they kept to manage Sam's periodic mood swings.

"So, Sam, whattup?" he asked.

Sam made a sound between a motor turning over on a cold morning and the Frankenstein monster encountering fire.

Spencer nodded as if she had just delivered the Gettysburg Address, "Oh yeah, I hear that. You want your bacon the usual way? Now, with plenty of no waiting?"

Sam put her head in her hands, but a smile cracked her grim features. For the first time since Carly wrapped her in the comforter she felt cared about. No wonder she once had a crush on Spencer.

Minutes later Spencer scraped another round of pancakes off the griddle and deposited them in front of Sam who silently slathered butter on the cakes cut them laterally into bands then dragged those through a bowl of maple syrup. This was the fourth stack he had made her, and the pound of Samergency bacon was gone. He was used to watching Sam eat, but never ceased to marvel. She was like some food magician. Now you see it, now you don't. He noted that Sam seemed to be watching her Pear phone as it were going to get up and samba across the counter. He marked how she ate on automatic: cut, dip, chew (sometimes she didn't chew she just swallowed like some super predator on Animal Planet). And her eyes continued to flick over to the phone which sat, lifeless, on the granite surface.

Spencer stepped over to where his sister sat at the computer.

"You were right. This is off the hook," he said, his lips barely moving.

Carly leaned into him, "Told you."

"They fight all the time, what was it this time?"

"No they didn't fight, she told me, 'we didn't fight,' they just broke up."

Spencer's eyebrow shot up, "How do you break up without fighting?"

"Do I look like Dr. Phil?"

"A little, around the lips."

She gave him the stink eye. "This is serious, she is all torn up. I need to talk to Freddie. He'll tell me what happened."

Spencer shook his head, "Best if we stay out of it," he said, knowing full well the likelihood of his sister not interfering. Then he headed off to his room, "Gotta change so I can meet Jenna."

It was Carly's turn for eyebrows to hurtle toward the ceiling; her voice was unnecessarily loud as she said, "What? I thought you two broke-up last night."

Noise erupted from the kitchen as Sam spun on the stool in clear anticipation of seeing something or someone who wasn't there. Pancake bits and syrup sprayed, the energy from her movement almost crackled.

"You okay?" Carly asked and Sam, with visible surprise at her own reaction, returned silently to her remaining pancake strips.

Carly shook her head then said to Spencer, "I don't get it, how can you two get back together so fast?"

Spencer threw his jacket on, "Why wouldn't we? We have a common past and we surely have a connection. Just 'cause we don't fit your definition of a good couple…" He stressed the "your" as he spoke.

"Well the two of you had a pretty weird couple thing goin' on."

"Pshaah!" Spencer said flipping his hand up as if he were stopping traffic. "Never seen a relationship that wasn't weird in somebody's view, what matters is if it works for the people in it."

A clattering sound came from the kitchen where Sam's knife and fork had hit the floor.

Spencer nodded to Carly indicating Sam then headed toward the door, "Gotta hit the bricks," he said striding away.

"You're still in your robe and Underroos," Carly said without looking at him.

Spencer's face appeared truly appreciative of the reminder and he bounded into his room to change.

Carly looked over at Sam who sat in front of an empty plate with yellow pools of melted butter. "I know better than to ask this, but did you eat ALL of those pancakes?"

The blonde nodded, "Yeah," her tone was distant, distracted.

Carly sighed then looked at the screen, she couldn't just dive right in, so she came in sideways, "Wow, these iCarly fans are out of control."

Sam pushed away from the table then strolled, sort of heavy legged, over to the counter, "What do they want to know about Gibby now?"

Carly paused, because Gibby was clearly a fan favorite, then she said, "Well, this is more of that shipping stuff they send in. They want to know how you and Freddie are doing."

"Tell them the truth."

"What is the truth, Sam?"

"Freddie and I broke-up."

"Why, what happened last night, what did you do?"

Sam's eyes narrowed, "What do you mean, what did I do?"

Carly sucked in her lip a little stunned that she had said the same thing as her brother, "Well, I mean, Freddie wouldn't, I mean, you both seemed happy, but, well, did you make him mad?"

"Did I make him mad?" Sam looked at her friend, heat beginning to rise inside her.

"Yeah," the tension was thick in the air, but Carly held her ground. Sam was her best friend but it was not easy to imagine Freddie pushing for a break-up. Not after making it through the NERD camp debacle. That had seemed to seal the deal of them as a couple.

"Carls, I think I handled it very well, he called me 'abnormal' and I didn't knock his teeth out."

Carly gasped, "Oh my god."

Sam continued, "We very calmly agreed, mutually, to call it quits." She neglected to mention that the conversation started because they overheard Carly's speech to Spencer and Jenna on making a connection into something more. She neglected to mention that they said "I love you" to each other for the first time, she also left out that they went to the very edge of full physical intimacy after breaking up.

She left out a lot, because she was changing the game. She wasn't sure how yet. She rarely had a plan. That was his thing.

"He said you were abnormal?" the look on Carly's face was charged.

"Yep, that exact word."

"Sam, that's terrible! That must have hurt so much. Why would he do that?"

"He just said what was on his mind, I guess. Anyway, he's just too normal for me. Mama likes hers a little strange, girlfriend."

"Well, I've never thought of Freddie as normal, either, but, wow. I can't believe he said that. No wonder you were so upset."

Sam made her caught-in-something deeper face, her lips tightened and her eyebrow flicked up and down. Carly missed it somehow.

"Are you going to talk to him?" Carly asked.

"About what?'

"You know, how you are going to behave around each other. Won't it be kind of, I dunno, awkward?"

"Who cares? We'll still do the show, we just won't grope each other anymore," as she said that the plunging sense of loss in her chest made the room spin a little, but she recovered quickly.

Carly's face was scrunched into a petulant mask, "I'm angry he was so mean to you. What if he says he's sorry and wants to try again?"

"If he wants to try again?" Sam had slipped a few times in the last few minutes, and her breakdown in the early hours was a complete breach of all things Sam Puckett, but she was now assembling a new wall, a better defense against the young man who had dived so deeply into her hidden spaces. She held up the Pear Phone she clutched tightly. "Nothing from the nub at all," and there she made her stand. She felt the wet, hot pressure beneath her eyes. She blinked and with her astounding ability to close out a hurtful world, built over years of failed expectations, it was done.

"If he wanted to 'try again' he'd have called or texted." She waved the Pear phone. "So the nub got what he wanted."

Carly looked at her with her concerned "Carly face" the one that could be used by missionaries to illustrate the word concerned to illiterate third world populations, "Is it what you want, Sam? How do you feel? I mean, you kissed him…"

"Yeah, and I promptly checked myself into the 'Let's Talk About It' hotel," she said the last imitating a mental deficient with an impediment. "I'm over it," inside Sam something screamed.

Carly's face was uncertain and a little shocked at the cruelty in Sam's means of expression, "You called him 'nub'. You aren't going to go back to hitting him are you?"

Sam smiled the feeling of something precious dissolving was huge inside her but her capacity for denial surged into it violently. Inside her, two giants battered each other, clawing and biting, but all that showed outside was a kind of thoughtful reflection, like a mountain lake with a volcano roiling below a serene surface. "Depends on if he irritates me, I guess." The smile on her face was broad and only she knew how fake it was.

Carly stared at her, like Sam was a counterfeit bill but she couldn't say why.

Sam needed to move past Carly's intense gaze. She couldn't go back. She had a lot of new lies and pretenses to build. The Kiss had thrown all her old tricks and disguises into the sewer. Sam used Carly's own tactic against her, and went in sideways, "So what's up on the site?"

That did the trick. Carly's face clouded over indicating Sam had diverted her friend's attention. Carly rolled her eyes, "Ugh, these fans. You wouldn't believe the things some of them write about us. It isn't about if the show is funny or good, it's about us, you, me, Gibby, Freddie. How we look, who we're dating, what we do on dates, are we jealous. It's like High School on those illegal things baseball players use."

"Steroids."

"How did you know that?"

"It's illegal," She made a palms-up gesture; only the "duh" sound was missing.

"Oh, yeah, anyway, some fans are so mean! I can't stand it!'

"Okay! You don't have Spencer Shay to kick around anymore!" Spencer called to them. They turned to say goodbye but the door was closing already.

As the door slammed, Sam said, "Did you notice that Spencer was wearing your pants?"

"Yeah, it really bugged him that he couldn't fit in them a while back."

"Oh." Sam looked at her sideways, "Do you ever wish for a normal brother?"

"Only once. Trust me; you'd like it even less than me."

"And Freddie thinks _I'm_ abnormal. Okay, lemme see that screen." Sam stepped up and read the commentary that scrolled on the monitor. The volume of content was intimidating. For a while she read in silence. Then she said,

"This Night Sweats guy, is he the one that says my butt is too big?" Sam asked.

Carly nodded, "Night Terror. Yeah. He also says you have 'unfortunate thighs.' He thinks I'm flat chested and I have an eating disorder."

"Yeah, I saw that. He said instead of making Gibby sit in food we should feed you," Sam chuckled just slightly.

"He has lots of opinions."

"Yeah, well here he's saying the show sucked after me and Freddie started dating."

"A lot of people are saying that."

"What? Why? We were funny, we did Super Bra!"

"Where you had all the camera time."

"Yeah, but Freddie says the show from Troubled Waters where we kiss, the numbers almost brought the server down…"

"That show was also really short. Some fans felt cheated."

"That was you! You cut the show short."

"Then you and Freddie missed a show."

"Ugh! We said we were sorry, we were having fun, lost track of time…"

Carly's face twisted into a picture of frustration, "I just want to tell these people…"

"Wadda you wanna tell 'em Carls?" Sam saw something she could hook the rage train inside her onto. She needed to hit something.

"That all we owe them is a good show. That our lives are none of their business!"

Sam made a sucking sound on her teeth. "Nah, I don't think that's how it works these days." Anger was spitting and straining at the bars inside her, a fury that had nothing to do with fans. It was a crazy cannon swinging free, unconcerned with where it discharged.

"Who we like, how we live is nobody's business but our own," Carly said in a shrill voice that was as close to a snarl as she ever got.

"C'mon Carls, take a letter," Sam said, her blue eyes discharging sparks.

"What?"

"Start typing," Sam began to pace back and forth, steam, flames, and black smoke invisibly billowing out of her.

Carly hesitantly turned toward the counter, put her fingers tentatively on the keyboard, letter A thru semi-colon, the way she did when she wrote papers.

"To the Fans of _iCarly_," Sam dictated and made a pointing gesture to Carly who started to tap the keys.

"Many of you have watched and written in. We asked you what you thought about Freddie and Sam dating, and then we gave it to you."

"Sam, I don't know about…"

"TYPE!" Sam's voice was a thunderclap and Carly jolted into motion under some barely cloaked threat.

"Well, Sam and Freddie didn't work out. Sam and Freddie mutually agreed that they didn't click and they are no longer dating. The big mystery is over. No big loss, the show's the thing. _iCarly_ is back on track. It will be like Sam and Freddie never happened."

"Sam…"

The blonde leaned into Carly's face so tightly Carly thought she was about to be kissed, "Do it," she hissed. Her breath was a mix of maple syrup and morning funk.

Carly swallowed and finished typing; she was vaguely scared, Sam was in the grip of something. Around the time of the lock-in Sam started changing. What was going on was real and beyond Carly's understanding. She and Sam read over the text.

"Looks good Carlotta," Carly noticed the veins standing out in Sam's neck.

"Sam, I can't post this."

"You chicken?" Sam said through her teeth, a spray of spit sparkled in the light.

"No. I just think…"

"Then click, Post."

"Freddie says never post in anger…"

At the mention of his name Sam jerked forward, pressed in again with almost-kissing-closeness. Sam was deliriously aware of her anger. She was feeding on it, a kind of sick stew. She was angry at a lot of things and one of them was Carly. That her stupid speech last night caused all of this, that it was always Carly. She was the star. She and Freddie were just disposable supporting characters in the show of Carly's life. Sam and Freddie were a plot line that didn't get the ratings numbers.

Barely taking her stabbing eyes away from Carly Sam moved the mouse to the Post button and clicked so hard there was a sound of cracking plastic.

"Sam! That went out in my name!"

Sam smiled, "You got us together, and you announced the crash and burn."

"Sam!"

Boobidy Boobidy Boo!" Sam said, then, "I'm gonna get some ham." The blonde turned and walked toward the kitchen.

"You can't bury this in ham!" Carly called.

"I can try!" she glanced back at Carly as she said it. Her look was frighteningly unSamlike, it had a crazed quality that made a shiver run down Carly's back.

This was very familiar somehow. Carly watched her friend run away from something again. For the briefest moment Carly thought of how Sam had pushed her to talk smack to Shelby Marx almost getting her beaten to salsa, how Sam had announced Freddie and Carly's "love" at Webicon causing mass insanity. She thought about all the times her best friend had acted impulsively, recklessly. The only crazy act that went anywhere good was when she kissed Freddie, and even that seemed to have been a mistake.

Carly shivered again.

**A/N**

**Is it just me or is this getting weirder? Was this just a misunderstanding? Is that possible? Freddie thinks he was dumped, Sam thinks he wanted out, did I get that right? That elevator conversation was jacked-up. Still, a quick conversation would clear this up, right? I love Sam, but we have something less than full disclosure going on here. So, what's coiling under the surface?**

**But you won't see it just yet. Everybody has to get through the next day, the first encounter after the break-up. The working title for the next chapter is called "Weird Blue Monday."**

**Happy New Year Everyone.**

**Read**

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	5. Weird Blue Monday in Freddiescope

**Happy New Year!**

**Thanks to those who favorited and alerted, and a special Knightro nod to those who took the time to read and review:**

**Mike2101, oceanmistsupporter, jhuikmn08, Urias, Julefor, Moviepal, ChicagoBears, bluejay63, afanoffanfic, Dwyn Arthur, Dannysamlover, cream tea anyone and mizkntuhke.**

**Late credit: my thanks to Dwyn Arthur whose conversation helped me crystalize the idea of: "It will be like Sam and Freddie never happened."**

**Speaking of which, I just watched my recording of "iStill Psycho." It was a very typical iCarly episode. In contained the jokes and situations that any casual viewer would recognize. T'Bo is a hoot and I smiled at the antics several times during the forty something minutes of episode. Other than the continuing maturation of the principles it would be hard to know what season this represented. Sadly, I saw one thoughtful, protective Freddie moment, and I stopped counting Sam authored abuses of Fredward after four. Seemed like old times, like Sam and Freddie never happened.**

**Disclaimer: Dan owns it. WhiteKnightro just works the fields in the hot sun lookin' for the big payback.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Weird Blue Monday (in Freddiescope)<strong>

I was at Ridgeway in the Boy's Room. That's what the sign says, "Boys." I didn't feel like a boy today. Washing my hands, how hard could that be? Except I couldn't seem to get it done, I'd put my hands under the faucet and no water would come out. I'd wiggle my fingers like I was doing shadow puppets under the tap, and nothing. But as soon as I moved my hands away from the basin water would spray out. Then I'd race my hands down and the water would shut off. Hands in, water off, hands out, water on.

Butter.

Who calibrated the proximity of the sensors on the sinks? Neville? My hands were lathered up with soap the way mom drilled into me (no matter what she taught me I don't wash up to the elbow at school. I'm probably the only kid in Seattle whose apartment has a surgical sink in the bathroom) but I couldn't wash the soap off. It was like one of those hidden camera shows or Spencer was back on prank. Finally, the guy with one of the highest SAT scores at Ridgeway moved to the next sink. There I was able to wash my hands.

"Anti-Freddie universe, I'm in the anti-Freddie universe," I said to my reflection in the graffiti scarred mirror. That would explain all of it. My bad luck, the break-up, the way I was feeling since the break-up.

"Sam and I broke up," I said aloud and my voice rang a little on the tile.

I looked at the guy in the mirror. Behind the scratched invitation to sex with someone who graduated a year ago, he didn't look bad. Maybe he wasn't on any posters in any girl's room anywhere on the planet, but he didn't look like a nightmare either. Mirror guy had now dated his two best female friends in the world and been unable to keep a relationship, y'know, the good kind, going with either.

"That's quite the streak you got going," he says to me. Better be careful. I spent a lot of Sunday talking to myself.

"Is that Brains Benson out there?" I heard a voice call from one of the stalls behind me. When someone calls me Brains Benson that means they're trying to differentiate me from the other Bensons at Ridgeway, DeShawn Benson (Basketball Benson) and Clarice Benson, (Benson with boo … er, well you know) from each other at Ridgeway. I was Brains Benson when you needed to specify you were dealing with me.

"Is your phone working?" the voice asked. "Freddie is that you?"

"No," I lie. At one time I wouldn't have lied. Sam Puckett showed me that sometimes lying is a quick way to get things done and right now I didn't want to play tech support. I learned a lot from her. I wonder what she learned from me.

"That she doesn't like dating nerds," I say to the metal mirror but not loud enough that the ankles and wadded jeans behind me could hear.

"Benson, if that is you, where's the Internet?" the voice called from the stall.

_Where's the Internet? What does that mean? It's all around you dip thong. Wow. Sam is in me deeper than I knew._

I elbowed the button on the new hand dryer. It made a shrill wind up noise that was so loud I thought a 747 was taxiing on a runway.

"Holy butter!" the roaring air coming out was hot enough to cook a Ball Park Frank and blowing so hard that the skin on my hands was actually fluttering as the water flew off. It was like when I'd drag my hand out the window of our car when mom would drive on the highway. Then mom would make me put my arm back in the car then lecture me on safety and the danger of getting my arm torn off by a passing truck. God's hand dryer made me laugh and I wanted to tell Sam about it. She'd want to walk into the Boy's room and see for herself. I know her. Except, could I still do that? Can I tell her something funny that happened and try to talk her out of walking into the Boy's Room to see for herself? Can we still do those things? What are we now? Are these the first words out of my mouth when I see Sam: "Hey, the hand dryer in the Boy's Room is like drying your hands behind the Batmobile." Yeah, she'll melt into my arms: "Oh baby, talk nerdy to me."

And I realized she wouldn't call me baby anymore. Who knew that I'd miss that?

Walking down the hall I felt like chiz, like I'd felt since I woke-up on Sunday. We broke up Saturday night. The last time we talked was when I tucked her in on Carly's sofa. I went home and pretty much collapsed in bed. When I woke up it was the first thing on my mind. As Sunday progressed I came to the conclusion that I had been dumped, nicely, gently dumped.

If you have never experienced it, being dumped even gently sucks. Sam was my first kiss, my first long term girlfriend, and as was becoming clear, my first serious break-up.

I checked my phone. I saw no calls, no texts and no e-mails. I figured after our make-out session in the studio…. What did I figure? When it happened I hadn't really felt bad. It didn't seem real. We could barely separate that morning when we finally finished making out. I just wanted to sit on the sofa at Carly's all night. I should have just stayed. I should have done what Sam wanted to do, but there was no way her first time, my first time was gonna be like that. Sam deserves the best first time of any girl ever.

I'd practiced seeing her for the first time and I was ready with lots of responses but the main thing was I had to be her friend. No matter what came up I was not going back to The Game. The Game was this weird relationship we developed where we would abuse each other.

"Hey, Fred, something's up with SpanNet."

What? Someone was talking to me. I turned toward the sound.

"You got any mail? Text? Dialtone?" The chunky guy talking to me was Randy Charmin (pronounced "shar min.") "Charmin' Charmin" to us in AV club, "Toilet paper" to the jocks.

I looked at my phone again and saw no bars. Well that would explain why I hadn't heard from her- Some kind of localized outage. It was a little spark, some kind of hope fire started to glow in my gut. Maybe she was trying to reach me and this phone outage was blocking her. My heart was racing—weird. I confirmed with Randy that not a single PearPhone of any kid in the hall had signal. We could see the school's network but weren't allowed to get on it without a key.

"You seen Sam?" I asked him, feeling better than I had in hours.

He looked at my right side then my left. "She's not where I'd expect to find her," he said smiling.

"Yeah," I suppose people would be finding out soon enough. My stomach felt weird. I was glad it wasn't public. I felt kind of ashamed about it

At my locker I pulled my books out. I've submitted the idea of digital books for the last two semesters. How long before digital texts were the norm? When I closed the locker door Janice Bruckner was there.

"Hi Freddie," she said.

About Janice Bruckner. She's a cheerleader and very attractive. Short black hair, grey eyes and, well, I'll get to the rest. She started coming around me because of my vampire imitation. I don't get it, but girls really dig it when I talk all slow and moody. Janice was always stopping me in the hall asking me to do the talk. Until Sam and I started dating Janice was pretty determined to have me talk vampire to her whenever she saw me. She even called me on my cell late once and said, "Do the talk."

That was weird.

And hot.

Yeah, I had vampire talk with Janice on my cell.

That stopped when Sam and I started dating. Sam throws a pretty long shadow which kind of established property lines. It was flattering if I didn't think too hard about it. Anyway, Janice is known because of her, uhm, well she has substantial, uh, y'know... She has a prestige account at Build-a-Bra or that's the rumor anyway. I mean, she's a person and really sweet whenever I talk to her, so sometimes I wonder if she knows about her…I mean, how could she not? But most guys focus on her -you know. I think girls are bothered by them too, I mean, I'm not bothered by them, but, oh butter. I wanna say to myself, "Freddie, they're just boo…" No, I can't say that to myself. No wonder Sam and I broke up. Some days _I_ wanna break-up with me.

I needed to look Janice in the eye. I noticed guys don't do that. I think that would hurt to have people talk at your chest.

"Hi Janice, I'm not really doing the vampire talk today, okay?" I was surprised at how sad I sounded.

She made a sad face in response to my sad sound (I guess) and I almost gave in and started to get vampy when she said, "No, not that, I just want to say I heard about you and Sam breaking-up."

"Oh," _wow, that was fast. Who told? _"Uhm, how did you find out?"

"It's on the iCarly site."

_**WTF? **_**(A/N I had a cool typographical thingy here that the site won't support)**

"I'm really sorry, you guys didn't make it, well, I know what the message said, but do you think you're, uhm, are you okay? You look pretty stressed."

"Uh, yeah," _What did the message say? Who posted it? I mean, who would do that?_

"So do you want to talk about it? I can see you're pretty shaken up."

This was weird cubed. I was confused by what she told me and at the same time aware of Janice in a way that felt out of place. She leaned against the locker holding her books in front of her. She was really close. A silver chain hung down her open blouse unnecessarily drawing my eyes to the crack in her chest that marked the beginning of…them. She smelled good, perfume and girl hair-stuff good.

She stared at me. When I got back to her face she was really cute, why hadn't I noticed that before? Had I been focused on her uh, parts?

"Uh, no. I'm okay—but thanks," I said. I needed to see what was on the iCarly site. I needed to focus, to get my brain all the facts.

She just stared at me, with cool, grey eyes, then she said, "Yknow, I thought maybe you'd want to talk or something." She had spearmint breath, "When I break-up I can't always talk to my normal friends 'cause they pick sides 'n stuff."

"You have abnormal friends?" I said smiling, that was a logical, funny take away from what she said. The other, _How often do you break-up?_ Went unasked.

"Huh?"

"You said, 'normal friends' which leads me to infer that you have friends that aren't normal—it was a joke…" Sam would have gotten it. Sam. I needed to talk to Sam. What did we do?

She laughed, "You're really funny."

I sort of vaguely heard that. Carly and Sam never thought I was very funny. "Really, you think that?"

"Yeah, I think about you a lot."

Inside me was this crazy spaghetti twirl of confusion, curiosity, thinking, wanting, sadness and a bunch of other things that wouldn't slow down long enough for me to name them.

"So, do you wanna get a smoothie later? My treat," she said.

Pre break-up Sam and I used to walk holding hands to get a smoothie and I always had to buy. Were we going to do that today? I was pretty sure the hand holding wasn't gonna happen, but the buying was still pretty likely. Man, I was finding out how much of my life had changed.

"Uh, I'll text you on that," I told her.

Her eyes kind of lit up, "Really? Great! I'll see you in bio!" she was backing away watching me. She seemed pretty pumped and she almost crashed into people in the hall. As she backed away it occurred to me I wouldn't be texting anyone until Pear Phones all got signal back. And something else cleared the fog.

Janice Bruckner was into me. It was so cool for an instant I wanted to tell Sam, then I realized whether we were dating or not that wasn't the kind of thing I could tell Sam. I could tell the guys in the Training Bros but most of them are terrified of girls, especially after Sam's visit.

Weird.

With Janice gone my mind instantly went back to where it had been since Sunday: Thinking about Sam. Sam was nowhere this morning and where was Carly? I wanted to talk to Sam. Sam and I hadn't talked since I kissed her one last time on Carly's sofa. When we said good night after making out, I mean, it was weird. It was the second strangest night of my life. The first was the lock-in and that intense kiss.

Intense.

Fun.

Weird.

Life changing.

The most important kiss of my life, why didn't I say that to her in the elevator? Because I sensed she wanted out, right? I had to read that post on the iCarly site that Janice mentioned.

Since I couldn't get the web on my phone I went to the library and went to iCarly dot com. On the blog was a statement from Carly. For Carly it was insanely short, talking about how Sam and I agreed mutually to break up. The whole statement started a fire storm of comments. I didn't read them. I mean, who cares what the fans think about our lives?

Sam must have talked to her. But why did Carly post this? I read it again and again, one line kept jumping out at me, "It will be like Sam and Freddie never happened."

_WTF! _

Why would she do that? Okay, because she's Carly, but man, this was happening too fast. I needed to talk to Carly now too.

I checked my mail at the server. I did have messages, but nothing important, nothing from Sam. I did have some e-mails from bloggers about the break-up. This was too weird, total strangers, people who watch the show and think that they can comment on our lives, what is that about? Most were nice, but some crossed the line, like one message from someone named Night Terror who was telling me I was better off without Sam that I could do better. It was like an e-mail from my mom.

Weird.

Without phones and messaging things slowed way down. It was really irritating, but before second period I caught Carly at her locker. When she saw me she sort of took a breath. I could tell something was up.

"Hey," I said, "can you tell me about what you posted on the site?"

Carly's face kind of fell, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Freddie, I, that was so weird. I wrote it, I mean, typed it, but Sam, oh Freddie, what happened Saturday?"

_Great question. Wanna see my notes? What should I say?_ "Uh, Sam and I kinda, well, we didn't fight really, but she, well…"

"Did you say she was abnormal?"

"What? No! Uh, well, kinda…"

"Did you or did you not tell Sam she was abnormal?"

"It wasn't like that!"

"Honestly Freddie, no wonder she was so upset."

"She wasn't upset! All the things that Sam and I have said about each other, our families, our freak moms, calling her abnormal was no big thing. She told me I should get a little abnormal. It was just Sam and Freddie talk!"

Carly looked at me and I could tell she was trying to decide something. It was like I could see her thinking. Facing her I was feeling something, something sharp that was cutting into me.

"I think you need to talk to her," she finally said. She said it with her tone, the same commanding Carly voice she used at Troubled Waters when she demanded Sam and I talk about The Kiss. The voice she uses when she's declaring How Things Should Be.

What I was feeling was pure anger. First, we ran to Carly every time we fought, okay, that was on us. But the chiz all came down because we overheard Carly explain how relationships are supposed to be, her opinion sent us to the break-up, but that's on us too, really. No, what burns is that she posts a message saying that Sam and Freddie didn't work! That it would be like it never happened. Who gave her that right? And now she's telling me how to fix something that she indirectly caused? What was her longest, best relationship? 100 days with Steven the Cheat? Why on Earth did we ever think Carly Shay had any answers?

"You know what?" I said, "I'll handle this myself. If you get the urge to ignore my privacy and post my medical records on the Internet remember there are laws forbidding _that_ kind of chiz."

Was this the first time I'd ever spoken harshly to Carly? The first time I ever really didn't care if I made her mad?

I'm pretty sure it was.

I turned my back on her as the bell rang, I thought I heard her call my name but I ignored it and merged into the student traffic that was filling up the hall.

By second period with all the Pear folks up in arms and Briggs sharing stories about "Life before cell phones," the burner in my corner of Hell was on ten. Yes I said "Hell" because that's what I felt. And another thing, boobs! There! I think about them, I like them, and I'm saying them. Boobs! Boobs! Boobs!

Next period I'd be in study hall with Sam if she didn't cut and we were going to talk.

All night I'd rehearsed what I would say to Sam when I saw her. I practiced for mean Sam, tired Sam, indifferent Sam, angry Sam. I even prepared for "Let's Try Again" Sam although I didn't give that a lot of effort. It was pretty clear to me that she wanted out. I had decided I was going to be a nice guy no matter what, not a real stretch for me, really.

But it was time for me to say what I felt. It was past time. It was like when this started. Nobody was asking me what Freddie wants. Well Freddie wasn't ready to break up. It was not mutual. If she wants to dump me then she has to say it to my face. I mini-prepped a speech that started, "Is this what you want? Because I miss you, I've missed you since the minute I walked away and I don't want to break-up. Carly doesn't know what we are. Sam, do you still want to date me?" And I braced myself if she said "No," but she was going to have to say it.

In study hall we always sat together, even before we were a couple, although then I'd position myself out of fist range. Today when I got to study hall I waited for her to arrive. She usually had a bacon break that had her dragging in late, but today she walked in on time (early for her) and rather than sit at our regular table she walked straight in and sat with DeShawn Benson. Another Benson, Basketball Benson, Big Benson, Black Benson.

I stared as she sat with him. They talked. They laughed. They had to keep it down but I heard little bites of his deep voice. It wasn't, "This is CNN" deep but it was smokey and strong. Sam did what she always did in study hall, she played triangle football. I did what I never did. I stared at her across a room wanting her to look at me. She spent the hour not looking at me. The one time she did glance over my way she smiled and waved. I waved back. Sam smiled and waved? Who was that?

Weird.

Randy Charmin who also sat at our table looked at Sam over at DeShawn's table, then to me, "Dude, I think Sam upgraded."

I had thought about that, the possibility that Sam had found someone else. B-Ball Benson lived in her neighborhood. Of every one at Ridgeway nobody doubted who was going to be on TV and pulling down seven figures someday. College basketball scouts all knew about him and all he needed to do was graduate and pick any school in the country with a basketball team. He had a future that a blind man could see.

And that was that. I thought about walking over and talking with her, but I had no idea what to say. I had prepped for a lot of Sams but not happy Sam with new, better Benson. Better Benson, yeah, that fits.

"Hey Freddie, you okay?" Randy asked.

"No, but I'll get better."

I got out my phone to text Janice Bruckner that I'd meet her for the smoothie. Still no signal, but I didn't need one to get the message Sam was sending.

**A/N **

**Holy chiz, this is turning into **_**Freddie's Creek**_**. Show of hands, how many of you get that reference/joke? **

**Chapter six is Sam's half of Monday. Just to be fair: "Weird Blue Monday (in Samarama)." Chapter six might be a while. I've been on vacation, but this week I go back to saving the world. Superman was taking up my slack. Yes, I've met Superman. Yes, he's really cool, but to be honest, and I would tell him this to his face, being invulnerable makes him kind of irritating. I mean he's always jumping in front of death rays while me and Batman have to jump out of the way. I'm just sayin…**

**Leave a review. I match the donation to underprivileged superheroes.**

**I hope 2012 offers whatever it is that each of you needs.**

**Read**

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	6. Weird Blue Monday in Samarama

**Of course my usual thanks to those who favorited and alerted, and a special tip of the golden helm of Knightro to those who took the time to read and review chapter five:**

**Mary Rachel, LizTheBookNerd, SuperbSeddie, Mike2101, oceanmistsupporter, jhuikmn08, Urias, bluejay63, afanoffanfic, Dannysamlover, Moviepal, pigwiz, Julefor, Darsnider and mizkntuhke.**

**I've been thinking a lot, picture Rodin's "Thinker" with the same triceps but Jason Statham stubble. The objects of my rumination are the post seddie arc episodes, "iQ" "iStill Psycho" and "iBalls." There's lots to discuss there, but the upshot is I'm changing my angle of approach on this fic. As such, I'm not locking myself into just getting to "iQ." Dan has given me a gift with these recent shows and I'm gonna run with it.**

**Disclaimer: Dan owns it. But he doesn't control it. All art has a life of its own. Not sure who owns "Starry night" but it stopped being solely Van Gogh's the instant someone else saw it.**

**Chapter 6: Weird Blue Monday in Samarama**

Breaking into school was easy. I'm not even sure if having dirt on the custodian so he leaves the roof door open for me constitutes breaking in. It was so early in the morning it was still dark when I got on the roof and went into the building. I don't like school, but there is something about walking through the building when it's empty that I really dig. The parking lot had only a couple of cars. One was Principal Ted's so I wanted to be sure to avoid him on my way to the gym. It's funny how loud you are when walking alone and you are trying to be quiet. With no kids Ridgeway has lots of sounds you never think about, banging pipes, buzzing ducts, water running in the pipes. You can hear a basketball bouncing from far away in an empty building.

Tony was in the gym practicing. He was here every morning, every day of the week practicing shots, drilling. The coach made sure Tony could get in all the time to keep his talent warm and fresh. Coach saw a city, maybe state championship if the rest of team could rein in its suckage. Basketball Benson saw his grandma and sisters out of the rotten little house across the street from mine just as soon as his basketball could carry them. I watched Tony dribbling and running the full length of the court. He was incredibly tall for a junior, for a dude, for a human being. He was wearing only shorts and expensive tennis shoes, but later in the day it'd be baggy jeans and a white down jacket with a baseball cap. Then he'd have earrings, and costume rings on his fingers and really crazy tennis shoes.

He always practiced full court, running after the ball, working both hoops, his cocoa skin glittered with sweat but he didn't seem out of breath at all.

He stopped his dribble at half court.

There he posed like a statue of a basketball player. I watched in silence from the door.

"Tiny Dancer," he said loudly without looking at me. That was what he called me because when we were kids he'd go to my dance classes with me sometimes. The tiny part came because I never got very tall, and he sure did. The two of us side-by-side looked like little letter i and big letter I only I didn't have the dot thingy. He took the shot which swished perfectly. His future waited patiently for him to finish high school.

"Hey Tony," I said to him. Only people who knew him called him Tony. Teachers called him "DeShawn" or Mr. Benson. People who pretended they knew him called him "De." He was incredibly popular so if I wanted to sit at this table in study hall I was going to have to reserve a seat. Tony owes me. We go back a long way. Well, not that two seventeen-year-olds have that far back to go.

His long legs walked him to the ball and I walked to meet him.

"Sistah looking good," he said, retrieving the ball. His voice was deep, and girls loved to hear it say their names. I had to be quick because his practice time was critical.

"Thanks" I said, giving him a look, "Your moves are better than the last time I watched you play."

"Better be, you aint' watched me play in what, a year?"

"Yeah, been busy. Listen, I know this is your personal time so I'll be fast. I need a favor."

"You know you got but to ask," he was thin and the kind of face girls like to imagine staring at them.

"Yeah, I need to sit at your table today in third period. Your table fills up but I need to sit with you."

"Done. Chiz, I thought you wanted something tough. I'll save you a spot." Then he added, "This 'cause you and Brains be fightin'?"

"How'd you know? You don't do iCarly news feeds."

He smiled, a huge white grin in a dark coffee face, "Little sister Risa does though. Thinks Freddie hot. I think so too," and he winked at me. "So you avoidin' Brains?"

I nodded, "Yeah, I can't sit at our table, not today."

"Don't trust yourself," he said it with the tone he'd apply to, "I get it."

"What?"

"You figure you sit with him, you get to talkin' maybe some chiz happen. You doin' the 'check-me-out- I'm-here-but-you-can't-touch' thing."

I squinted at him, considered telling him he was wrong, but I knew he wasn't, "I guess. I mean, I wanna see him but yeah, I can't sit with him. It's effed up." Why was I talking about it? Talking never does any good. This was so weird.

"So how come you don't pick some other jock like Demiturko or Meed? They surely give you a tumble if you lookin' fo' one." He bounced the ball which made a rubbery bang that echoed in the large room,

"I'm not looking for someone to date."

"And you know I'm safe," he said, shooting the ball without looking. It bounced on the rim a little and went in.

"Yeah," I said. We both understood as we strolled to where the ball rolled to a halt.

"You know I owe you," he said, "so, you want reserved seating it's yours."

"Thanks," I turned to head out.

"Hey Dancer, you sure about this break-up thing? I ain't no matchmaker but it sure look good from up here, you and Brains I mean."

"He, he, can do better than…" and I shut my mouth. I wasn't having this conversation.

"He what?" Tony said, his voice had bite, "Dancer, don't ever talk chiz about someone who's got my back. We clear?"

I looked at him, "Yeah—thanks."

He winked at me, "Maybe I take a run at you, show you some chocolate surprise."

I smiled, because it was so funny, but my insides felt like this gym, big, empty, nothing but echoes. "I'll see you in the Library."

If I was going to avoid Freddie I'd need a plan. A plan, man, dating the nub had really done a number on me. I was actually thinking about the rest of the day instead of just taking what comes. If I kept my brain on this track I'd be thinking about why I said what I said in the elevator. I shook my head. Maybe I was thinking about the future more but I wasn't gonna start thinking about the past.

I stayed in the background before first period. I should have stayed away from his locker but I wanted to see him so badly. It got worse when I did spot him. He had no idea I was watching him from the stairs. It's why he got booted out in the first round of Ultimate Assassin, he has no clue what is going on around him. He had no idea how into him I had gotten. Chiz, _I_ had no idea. But I kinda did when Carly said she kissed him. It felt like when you bite your tongue when you eat. It hurts you and makes you angry when you don't expect it at all.

He was focused on something. He has crazy concentration. I watch as him and his AV buddy Toilet Paper took out their phones and started waving them around like they were playing airplane or something. Probably some new app they downloaded. He's cute and hot just standing there. I wanna run over and touch him. I want him to touch me. I want him. Period. I have these feelings but I'm not real good with 'em. I gotta stop thinking about Saturday night, about him, about us.

But I get why he isn't into me like that.

I notice Janice Bruckner and her tits standing away watching the two nerds dance. She isn't laughing. She's waiting, she reminds me of some cat in a tree watching small animals. I don't like it.

I'm so out of it I go to first period early. That boy has messed me up bad.

When I walk into third period my stomach is a rock. I could barely eat my bacon. I don't look at Freddie but I can feel him looking at me. I don't look at him. I don't dare. Tony has his legs up on a chair. He is surrounded by clueless girls. He moves his feet so I can sit. The girl territory vibe is strong coming from the chicks before I plop down. When I do, they are stabbing me with their eyes. Chicks are way meaner than any guy I've ever fought.

I want to shout at these stupid b's. They flock around Tony 'cause he's cute with a smoky voice and popular and successful with a dream future. They don't know he's a fake. I wanna shout at them that Tony's into guys. He uses all of you dumb b's as a disguise because he can't afford to have anything bust his plan to get his grams and sisters out of chiz acres. The real deal girls is over at the nerd table. There's a cute, talented guy who tells the truth, is kind, a first-class kisser and his hands do way better tricks for ladies than "pick a card." Don't get me wrong, I get why Tony can't just be himself but he doesn't stop these girls from falling all over themselves for him, either. It's not right. And why do I suddenly care about doing the right thing? Damn nub is under my skin. I'm using Tony as a disguise, too. I'm sitting with him because Freddie won't come over to Basketball Benson's table. It's a nerd/jocks territory thing. High school stuff is as irritating as old people some days.

Y'know how you can take a magnet on the refrigerator door and hold it away until you feel that tug that pulls it to the metal? That's what it was like in study hall. Freddie just sitting there was tugging on me. I wanted to walk over there and say, "Why don't you like me that way? You said you loved me, what does that mean? Why won't you have sex with me? I'm not bad looking, heck, you're a guy, you want to do it all the time."

Not you. You're not like other guys. That's part of why I like you so much, I think. It's still weird to me that I'm attracted to you. But I am and it spooks me because it makes no sense. Nothing about Sam and Freddie makes sense. But it feels good when I relax and just let it happen.

I know from the way you touch me, the things you did do, the way you look in my eyes, what I can feel when you press against me that you want to do it. You're not in the closet like Tony. No, you won't go all the way because you don't want the baggage. You are too nice. Freddie Benson does what is right. You won't do Sam Puckett because she isn't right for you. You know you are going away to college and you are going to meet those girls who will really fit with you, that makes sense. You'll meet some college Carly who likes stupid trains and cares about the rivets in a Trudgemaster. People think Tony has a future but I know what you are, how smart you are. It's a nerd world out there. Carly and me might be talent on the show but the nerd makes it run.

I can't be distracted if I want to beat Tony at triangle football. He's too much of a competitor to not give him my best game. I'm still Sam Puckett. Mama wins. Mama hates to lose, but you are squeezing down on me, Benson. Damn. I hate to lose you, I feel bruised inside, rotten, like if you split me open there'd be this black, squirming core.

Near the end of the hour I treat myself to one look over at you. You are looking at me. You smile. You do your smirk and the eyebrow thing. Wow. Nobody should be as cute as you.

I wave and I smile. It feels so good this moment, this second of connection. You wave back. This is what you want? This is better for you? I miss fighting with you. It's been one day. I didn't miss you this bad when we spent weekends apart. Is it because I know you're gone now? That, "you-want-what-you-can't- have" thing?

I want you to walk in the room and say, "Hey cuteness," how stinkin' lame is that? There is no way I can do Howard's class with you today. If I have to sit and watch you there I will get up and kiss you so hard your eyeballs will pop. It'll make that lock-in kiss look like a fist fight. I gotta cut class.

I bail out of study hall before the bell, something Freddie can't do because it isn't right. I get through lunch and the classes before Howard's and even stay awake in Brigg's English because we talk about that poem I like, "Richard Cory." I get that one. You can't trust the outside of people. You can't know the inside based on the outside.

Carly found me at my locker eating some jerky to keep my strength up. I kinda thought the nub would at least walk by but he didn't. What the heck do I miss? Pretty much everything.

"Sam, have you talked to Freddie yet?" she asks me.

"No. Saw him in study hall. Seemed fine."

She looked at me, "Well he's upset about the blog post. Honestly, how many people read the site? It's all everyone is talking about. That and the Pear phone problem."

I'm not listening to her. I feel wrong inside, like the first time when mom vanished for days, it happened enough that I got used to it. Next period is Howard's and I gotta pick a good place to ditch at.

"So what are you going to do?" she asks me.

"About what?"

"About you and Freddie! He yelled at me Sam, all because of that note you wrote and I posted. "

The jerky I'm chewing is dry and tough. I shake my head and walk away from Carly. She's still talking but I just don't wanna hear her right now. I can't explain it, but her answers aren't working for me. Maybe they never did.

When you need to vanish, go underground. I make my way to the basement. I wind down the grey painted concrete stairs beside big, hot pipes, down past big boilers and motor things that shake and rumble. I go deep where teachers don't ever go. I walk across a wet floor with bad lighting, there's the sound of dripping water. Little puffs of steam curl out of the pipes hanging on whitewashed brick. It is really hot down here, the air clings to my neck and smells like machine oil. I'm starting to sweat. It feels like I should meet some sewer alligator or a three headed dog guarding the door to Hell. That reminds me of Freddie helping me study for a lit test. Man is there no escape? I'm in a weird, nerd Hell.

Finally I get to a big metal door. Behind that is Mr. Fuentes the head custodian (the only custodian right now) watching TV. He has the space all done up with a mini fridge, and the huge fan that swings back and forth that he uses to dry big spills. The room is lit by the TV and one light clamped onto some silver electrical pipes over a couple of duct taped recliners. It looks like one of those rooms in movies where people get beat up until they confess. It's dark enough that you can't see the big pile of sawdust to throw on puke, but you can smell it.

"Hey Paco, I wanna watch Girly Cow," I tell him. I sit on the other beat-up recliner and the duct taped cushion makes a fart sound. This old recliner, I may make him give it to me. It feels really good. I sink into it and it fits my butt perfectly. I yank the handle and the foot rest pops out.

He rolls his eyes and buttons the remote so the channel changes. He does what I want because I've got video of him smoking on school grounds and I told him that I owned him until I graduated. So he leaves the roof door open when I say, and pretty much does what I need when I need it. I can't swish the ball from half court, and I can't write the mood app but mama knows how the world works too.

"Why you cut class this time?" Paco asks. He's wearing overalls like a train engineer, his skin is the color of a brown paper bag and he has a few white hairs in his eyebrows.

"What do you care?"

He nods, "Because he in that class with you?"

I look over at him, both of us are kind of half in the shadows half out, the fake leather of the chair is sticking to my sweaty arms, "What?" I ask him.

"Mr. Freddie, you avoid him," he says "him" so it sounds like "heem."

"How the fu…you read the iCarly blog?" I vaguely remember Carly talking about all the people that read the show blog.

"_Si_, I have the Internet," he points over to a desk at a ginormous monitor. It's not a Pear, it's huge and beige and ugly.

I snort, "What is that, King Tut's computer?"

"That is funny," he says. His accent is heavy twisting his words into funny shapes. "I watch your show. That Gibby, he make me laugh. He should have his own iCarly. He got taller and keep his shirt on more now. I cannot believe I see this great man every day. I love this country."

"He's just a Gibby," I say. I can't believe the janitor watches _iCarly_. I mean, he's old.

"This break-up thing is no good. It not help the show."

Too weird, who'd believe me if I repeated any of this?

"Yeah?" I say to him.

"I watch the show, my wife ask me why, she say, 'Paco, that is kid's show, why you watch?' I tell her 'watch with me,' and she does. You know what she says to me?"

"That Gibby should run for President?"

"That is funny. No. He is too young. You must be 35. I learn this by reading. She say to me, 'that blonde girl she love that guy she so mean to.'"

I don't know how to respond to that. It's true. I love Freddie. I've only said it once and I don't think it, ever. But I think thoughts that only someone in love thinks. And that scares me out of my mind. I'm Sam Puckett, I give scares I don't live them. Besides, Freddie wanted out.

"Yeah? Well that guy no love the blonde girl," I tell him. It hurts to say it out loud.

In the dim light the face he makes looks like that crazy acting from a silent movie. Freddie and I had been watching old movies-arrrgh! Enough with the Freddie memories!

"_No es verdad_. He kiss you when many people watch. When that happen, I applaud. I cry. He love you. This I know."

The weirdest part of this talk was I wanted to believe him. This janitor sitting in the opening to Hell, I wanted him to be right, that Freddie did love me. In THAT way. The good way. Not like friends. Like, a man loves a woman. Weird, right?

"Why Miss Carly apologize for you and Mr. Freddie? The show still make me laugh. You and Mr. Freddie is a good thing."

"Well, he doesn't think so," Weirdly, I want Paco to tell me otherwise to prove me wrong. _Careful Puckett, this is how the whole mess started._

"I not believe this. Did you talk to him? Sometime people need to talk more. People, friends, man and woman, this is very important for man and woman. They must talk but is very hard. Man and woman are very different, they need each other, but…"

Holy chiz, I'm hanging on this guy's every word, "But what?" I ask.

He laced his fingers together under the light and I noticed the flesh was cracked and damaged, eaten away like he soaked them in acid, the result of cleaning up other people's messes your whole life I guess. He says, "Man and woman they need each other, but is hard, very hard. With my wife, some days I wish I never meet her, but my life without her?" He breaks his hands apart like he just let go of an invisible bird, "_nada_."

We settle in to watch Girly Cow but I can't pay attention. As much as I hate to admit it, I need to talk to Freddie.

After school I notice there's something wrong with my phone. I want to text you to meet me at the Smoothie but I see that I'm not getting mail and can't call out. WTF? Normally I'd ask you about it. Are you still gonna do my tech support? The stuff I can do but, oh man, that I like making fun of you for? Yeah, you'll help me because that's the right thing to do. That's who you are.

Here's how well I know you. You'll be at the Smoothie because that's where we went, because we always go there after school. Especially on Mondays. You are like those dogs that slobber when they hear a bell—conditioned. You work a routine. I used to think that was dumb but it's also dependable. You're dependable and I need that. I hate myself for it but I need something like you that is solid, predictable. Crazy is hard to hold on to. I need someone who does what he says he will do. I know you Benson you'll go there. I know you. That feels so good, like that old recliner in the basement. Oh man this is weird, I gotta try to fix this…

I decide I'm going to tell you what I did, you'll be okay with it. You know how I am. You accept me. You have always accepted me. If I can make you fight with me we can get it back. We are going to try again.

If you want to.

Please want to.

Fight with me.

I'm picking up my pace and for the first time since Saturday night I'm starting to feel good again, that crazy janitor is right. We just need to talk. We'll settle this. This time no Carly, just you and me.

I get to the door of the Smoothie and I see it.

You.

Her.

You, and Janice Bruckner and her warheads, you're drinking smoothies and laughing.

Like we used to.

Before.

Before I did what I did.

I feel like I want to throw up.

This is like the night of the couples dance when I saw you and Carly dancing. And I knew. I knew that I felt something for you that I didn't like but couldn't help.

Coming here I wanted you to want to try again. But you don't, do you? I can see that. Is this why it was so easy for you to break up? That's why you didn't fight, isn't it? That's why this is so easy for you, because she wasn't just waiting for you at your locker, she's been waiting for you for how long?

Everything I believe in goes away. The whole world changes. Nothing lasts. The most dependable guy, the real deal is just like my dad.

He's a liar.

The anger is like nothing I have ever felt before, hot, red, like the end of one of mom's cigarettes in a dark room, but big, huge, it colors everything I see in the color of blood.

I'm going to do something bad.

**A/N**

**There's always something going on under the surface isn't there? Believing what you see is a tricky proposition. Chapter seven, "Dick Session" will be delayed as I write a one-shot for The Cabal's Valentine's Day mass posting. Yep, many Cabal members will be putting up new material. The working title for mine is: "iValentine 2000 Something." It's set in the iApuckettlypse future and is a response to the many of you who would like to see me write a happy Freddie. It will post on Saturday February 11****th**** in the evening. Some of you will like it, some will say, "WTF?" but all I do is write these things. Your job is to read and review them.**

**Peace out, WK.**

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	7. Dick Session

**I'm grateful for those who favorite and alert, but there's a special place in Knightro heaven for those who take the time to read and review. "Angels" coming out of chapter six:**

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**Chapter 7: Dick Session**

The room was painted in cool, calming blues and greens. Shelves of books wrapped around and where the books allowed, art, plaques and certificates dotted the walls. The air hinted of sandalwood incense. Leafy green plants sat on the floor in three corners. Subtle wire art dangled from the ceiling.

Dr. Timothy Dickman sat in the high backed office chair with his spiral bound notepad. He should have been taking notes on his PearPad but he just couldn't get the hang of it. When he listened he wanted no distraction, no barriers that prevented him from engaging them, hearing them, taking in all the levels of communication that were presented by his patients.

Patients like Samantha Puckett, the young woman seated on his office sofa. Her body language was closed. Legs and arms crossed, eyes down avoiding contact. She was immobile, sullen, sunken into the couch. He reviewed his notes from previous sessions. In terms of transactional analysis she operated out of the child, an angry three or four-year-old was his best guess. Her network of issues included but were not limited to: anger management, low self-esteem, food as comfort, parental neglect/abandonment (the troubled mother remained the father walked out, the notes were not clear at what age). Her last visit here at Troubled Waters was months ago. He looked at the timer on his desk. He had an hour. An hour to make a difference.

"Welcome back," he said to her.

She leveled her morose gaze at him, "Listen Dick, I didn't come back here because I liked it."

His estimation of her was coming back to him. She called him Dick, a truncation of his last name. Like his classmates did in school so long ago. Acerbic commentary was part of her impressive defense mechanisms. Somehow he had failed to record that aspect of their exchanges so he added a notation about her relentless resistance to any kind of authority even authorities that could help her.

"But here you are," he said with sunlight in his voice. She was not here by court order, she had requested an appointment. That spoke volumes. He would not ask why she was here on a school day. He had to be careful about engaging her. Aggression was a powerful mode of expression for her. Much of his job involved negotiation.

"Yeah, here I am. Why does your office always smell?"

"The incense is intended to be calming. Some people I see are tense."

She looked at him tensely, gaging whether he was making fun of her.

"How can I help?" the sunniness in his tone was undimmed.

"I can't pay for this," she stated outright, challenging him to throw her out and confirm her lack of faith in systems and the people who run them. She was aware she needed help but understood the ground she was walking on. She hated rules but she understood them. Dickman remembered how much he came to respect her after only a handful of encounters.

"I'll take my reward in heaven."

"You believe in that?" there was something in her voice that measured him.

"In heaven?"

"Yeah, life after death, that stuff."

"Personally, yes, I do. Are you thinking about death?"

"No, I mean, kind of, but that's not what I'm here for," she shook her head and her golden hair fluffed.

"So what brings you here?"

"The bus."

He smiled. Her wit was sharp. She managed her substantial baggage with aggression, food and her creativity. There was probably a paper in her relationship with food. She had a curious, undeniable nobility.

Without looking at him she said, "OK, I don't want all the questions about my parents and stuff that happened in my past, I mean I need help today," her finger stabbed down. "What happened yesterday doesn't matter."

He smiled at that, "Well, why don't you start by telling me what's on your mind."

She sucked in her lower lip with perfect white teeth. "I got angry." She paused to let that settle in. "The angriest I've ever been. I was afraid I was going to do something bad."

"To yourself?"

"What? No! To someone else. Who hurts themselves if they get mad? That's nuts!" She looked at the door remembering the residents in the rooms down the long, bright hall, "Oh, yeah, sorry."

He shifted in his seat, "When we lash out in anger, even if we direct our anger at someone to hurt them, we ultimately hurt ourselves."

"Like karma."

He cocked an eyebrow, "That's one definition, yes. How do you understand karma?"

She leaned back, clearly pleased at being asked a question that suggested she knew something. "My favorite book, _The Return of Boogie Bear,_ it's written for lots of different readers but what I got out of it was that what you put out there returns to you. You put out good, good comes back, you put out hurt, hurt comes back. That's what the 'Return' means in _The Return of Boogie Bear._"

"Well put. That's karma all right," he made a note. "So what made you angry?"

Her physical reaction as she summoned up the memory was intense; she made a revolted face like she had bitten into something and then saw it was encysted with undulating worms.

"I don't know how to explain it," she said with disgust.

Dickman said nothing. His pen moved to a kind of starter's position on the spiral pad as if he expected her to continue.

"A bunch of stuff has happened," she continued, she looked around the room, her eyes coming to rest on a thick green plant growing very slowly in the corner. "You remember why I came here?"

"Yes, you found yourself attracted to a longtime acquaintance."

"Yeah, a longtime acquaintance—Freddie Benson, a guy I thought I hated."

"So what happened with that?"

She brightened, "You didn't hear? He came here and got me."

He was tempted to joke about a white horse but knew that joking with her was not part of an effective therapeutic approach. Her return meant she trusted him; he could not jeopardize that trust.

"I didn't hear. What happened?"

Something seemed to descend on her or maybe surface out of her, it reminded him of an agnostic whose prayers had been answered, "He… he came here to get me out so we could do the show. But when I couldn't leave he brought the show out here. Freddie's smart like that."

"The show?"

"_iCarly_, the web show we do. Real popular with kids and even old people like you."

"Oh yes, that's right, I did go out and watch it. Very energetic." Dickman had watched the show but found most of the humor to be adolescent and predictable. Much of it seemed focused on humiliation of one form or another. A series of journal articles could be authored on the "Gibby" character. "So he came out for the show?"

"No," her tone was corrective, like a teacher showing an errant pupil the right answer, "He came out for me, he and Carly because they were worried about me."

"Sounds like you have good friends."

"The best," her mood heightened visibly as she said it. "So we're doing the show and Carly has the viewers chat in," she stopped, apparently recalling it. Dickman noted that her arms unfolded and legs uncrossed. "She asked our fans if they wanted me and Freddie to date."

Dickman suppressed his appalled reaction to the idea.

"I'm like, 'It's crazy, I'm crazy, no way, you know?"

Dickman nodded, he was still trying to get his mind around the implications of social networking in the Internet age.

"I was really fighting it. It was the usual stuff, part of me was irritated by Freddie, his niceness, his good looks, his brains, but some other Sam, some nutty chick in the same shoes has always wanted him to pay attention to me. That chick was really trying to take over."

Dickman's pen moved on the pad with a scratchy sound.

"So then Freddie says that no has asked him how he feels, so I get ready, right? He's gonna lay the smackdown on me, I mean, I've done stuff to him, treated him bad for years. Geez, I've done things that were funny but were definitely harsh, sometimes I wince when I think about what I did to him. But Freddie he, what he did…" She stopped and the room flooded with silence as the memory seemed to carry her away.

"Tell me about what he did," Dickman suggested.

She tensed, something about the memory had enormous power, "No one has ever done that, in my life people don't come for you. They…He…, what he did…it was..." she went silent.

"You didn't like it?" he baited her out.

"Are you nuts? I was in the middle of telling him to let me have it, I deserved it, I expected this was gonna be payback, and he, that dork, he…" her lip was trembling, she was on the verge of tears but offering her the tissues early would shut her down. She was highly resistant to crying, to displays of emotion other than anger. They were things she desperately needed but rejected because of her mother's abuse of healthy affection patterns.

"What did he do?"

"He kissed me," she paused, there was a wonder on her face, as if she had looked into the eyes of something angelic on the other side of the stars. "The kiss at the lock-in, that was me, I did that. He didn't kiss me back, he just froze. I figured he hated me, that I had thrown a bearing for even doing it so I came here. But his kiss, when he kissed me that night. It was.."

She froze. The light in her expression was almost tangible.

"It was what?"

"Amazing," her voice was soft like a child's prayer. "I've never felt… he, Freddie was my first kiss, and that was something, but this, I didn't know it could be like that."

"Like what?"

She looked away her joy dissolving as if a wave of shame were rolling over her. "That a kiss could make you feel…safe," and she squinted back tears. She dragged her sleeve across her eyes. She knew she was crying but he couldn't acknowledge the tears yet. That would shut her down. Without looking he made a note.

"So, what happened after that?"

"That's what I said to him, I said, 'so now what?' So, we started dating, you know, like normal people."

He grinned, but did not challenge her to define "normal."

"Tell me about dating, about getting together with your friend, Freddie."

She hunched over as if the floor had suddenly become remarkable. She was concentrating, swimming in a sea of thought. "It was like looking in some place you've never been before. I mean, Freddie is nice, he's an effin' genius, and good looking even though he doesn't know it." She played with the nail on her right thumb. "He's like Christmas. This big thing you know is gonna happen if you just wait, he's got a future. I'm not dumb, the world belongs to buttholes, beauties, ballplayers and brains like Freddie. Looks and brains—he is gonna take off, and here he was doing this thing that he had no reason to do, he was caring about me and I didn't deserve it. I was so mean to him all the time. He's like that. He's this great guy. I don't know how he does it, why he does it."

"Sounds like he cares about you."

She released an ungraceful snort, "Yeah, right. Not me, I know who I am and what I am."

"Which is what?"

"Trouble. Too much trouble."

"Freddie sees something else, it appears."

She shook her head as if to repel the notion, "Nah, he was just trying to help me out. He does the right thing."

Dickman glanced at the timer. He shifted his focus back to her, "Sam, boys don't kiss girls to help them out."

"Freddie isn't like other boys. He's not… he's not like any boy I've ever known. He's…different. He has to do the right thing."

"Yes, I remember that aspect from a previous session. He seems impossibly altruistic."

Sam slitted her gaze like some apex predator defending her nest, the only thing missing was a growl, "Freddie's the real deal, Dick. I don't think there's anyone else like him anywhere."

Dickman scribbled a note about her defensive reaction as silence settled again like a low hanging fog.

Aware of the time, Dickman pressed her, "What happened after you started dating?"

"It was bad and it was good." We fought about everything. About my helping him, about his being cheap, about whose mom is freakier, you know, stuff. We were awkward together. We'd spent years being mean to each other, we weren't so good at being nice to each other."

"That sounds like the bad, what was good?"

She smiled, "A lot. More than I ever thought. I always have fun with Freddie. He makes me laugh, he calls me on stuff. He knows how I am but he hangs, he treats me better than… better than I treat him. It's like he sees me as I am, accepts it, but makes me want to be better. Sometimes I think he sees somebody that I could be, somebody that isn't there yet. Crazy right?"

"Not at all."

"Anyway he makes me try; I don't know how to explain it. He, he's my best guy friend. He was, anyway," her jaw cocked into a hard frown.

"Something changed?"

"We broke up."

"Why?"

She exhaled powerfully making a gale wind sound as her head tipped onto the sofa back. She said nothing just looking up at the ceiling. She appeared to be wrestling something inside.

He waited.

Silence.

Finally, he risked pushing her, "Why did you and Freddie break-up, Sam?"

Her voice was small, a little girl caught doing something forbidden. "I did something."

He nodded thoughtfully; when he spoke his kindness seemed to surround her like a warm blanket, "What was that?"

She sat up. "I did one of those stupid things that I told myself I'd never do."

Silence.

With the hour slipping away Dickman asked, "What did you do, Sam?"

"Don't look at me like that. I didn't cheat or anything. It was… worse."

Silence.

Then gently, "What exactly did you do?"

"I set a trap."

"A trap?"

"Yeah, you know, one of those things when you talk. You know where you say something to someone because you already know their answer? You say what you say because it makes them say what you want to hear."

If this were a story Dickman could go back and read that again, but it wasn't so he had to get her to explain more clearly.

"What was the trap? What did you say?"

"Garrrgh!" Sam burst off the sofa and seemed poised to storm out, and then she halted, closed her eyes and dropped back on the sofa.

"Stupid. So stupid," she groaned. "Okay, we overheard our friend Carly talking to her brother about this girl he was dating and Carly was explaining what a good relationship is, and how they didn't have one. That they were trying to take some connection they had and make it into a boyfriend/girlfriend thing."

"I don't see the trap."

"I'm GETTING to it!" she snarled. "So, me and Freddie get on the elevator and I stop it. We'd been kinda trying to get into each other's hobbies and interests and that wasn't working out so good. When we heard Carly's speech we both thought maybe that's us. I wanted to hear him say that we were okay."

"Did he?"

"Kinda, he said, 'She wasn't talking about us,' and I pushed it, I asked if we were taking our connection and making it into something more. I don't remember everything we said, but at some point I said it." She looked into the upper corner of the room then down, her lips a tight line, her small body drawing itself taut as her legs came up and she sat in a ball. He noted the fetal position.

Dickman waited, watched her fidget and rock on the sofa. She found some stain on the sofa cushion and scratched at it, rubbing it aggressively.

"God! That's so stupid! Why did I do it?"

"Sam, what did you say?"

Teeth clenched she spoke, "I said to Freddie:

"I don't know if we click—in that way."

And she erupted upward off the sofa again, "Aaaaaah! Stupid words!"

Dickman watched as the rage ripped across her like a storm front. After a moment she seemed to contract again and settle back on the sofa.

"What was so stupid?" he asked.

"The trap, the test! It was a dumb test! I was sure after all that time, all the stuff we'd made it through that he and I were in the same place, that he'd fight me, tell me I was wrong. I wanted him to come after me. To argue with me, to fight me but he just leaned there. I couldn't believe it."

She kicked her legs out off the sofa, seeming to stare at the inordinately thick heels, "When I asked if we 'just broke up' he was supposed to say, her voice became calm and very logical, 'no Sam, that's crazy, you and I, we've got problems but I like what we are, what we've become,'" Her voice switched, then I'd say, "'me too,' I'm glad I kissed you at the lock-in.'"

"But he didn't respond the way you hoped."

"No."

"What did he do when you asked if you just broke up?"

"He said, 'Sounds like it.'"

"Dork! Stupid dork. Stupid, stupid geeky dork!"

"He asked me if it was mutual. NO! It wasn't dork weed!" she seemed to be shouting at a Freddie only she could see.

"You wanted him to pursue you, as he had done before when he came after you here."

"But he didn't. He didn't come after me this time. He didn't stand up and fight for it. For us. Why didn't he fight for us?"

Then she added, "Why didn't he fight for me?" and her voice was barely above a whisper as she said it.

"So when he asked if it was mutual what was I supposed to say? I agreed it was mutual, when it wasn't."

"Why didn't you tell him it wasn't mutual?"

The look coming out of her eyes was hot and cutting, "Because I got it. I know why he didn't fight. Why he stopped. She looked at her fingernails, "I can think of about a gajillion reasons he wouldn't want to be with me."

"Forget about all the arguments we had since we started dating, (whose Mom is craziest, how much cheese I put on my lasagna,) and stuff that went wrong, like how I took him to see Uncle Carmine in prison who threatened to stab him. Forget how I got him kicked out of his geeky train club, and NERD camp. I know he's mad about NERD camp no matter what Carly says. Why would he stick with me? I'm too much work."

Dickman was silent.

"Then, as we walked out of the elevator, you know what he did?"

Dickman shook his head.

"He told me he loved me. What was up with that? Why would he do that?"

"Perhaps that's how he feels."

She rolled over that statement if she heard it at all, "Y'know what was jank? I told him I loved him too."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," she said it with a pouted lip.

"I love him. I'm pretty sure I got it bad. That's the only thing that can explain how I feel."

"Which is what?"

"Sad, busted up, like I lost something important, something that I…need."

She let out a nervous laugh, "Okay, that wasn't the end. After we broke up then we made out like rabbits in the elevator for a couple of hours—we said we'd break up at midnight but we stayed on each other way past midnight. That boy has so much will power. A couple of times I almost said, 'You wanna try again?' or 'do you really wanna break-up?' but I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Pucketts don't beg," she spat. "Besides, he'd just say, 'No.' It was all I could do to kiss him that night at the lock-in. I couldn't have him all up on me in the elevator, ask him, 'Please? For me?' go all Carly on him, and see that look in his eyes when he said yes but didn't mean it. He said our lock-in kiss was intense and fun but he didn't kiss me back that night. I've never forgotten that. In the elevator I made it real clear what I wanted to do, he said, 'No, not here, not like this.' What am I supposed to do with that?"

"I'm not following you. This is after you broke-up? What happened?"

Sam glared at him, "I was doin' stuff, you know, STUFF, to let him know that I wanted to."

"Wanted to…?"

"Do IT! Have sex! God! You're as thick as he is! Geeks! I'm surrounded by geeks!"

"You don't believe he wanted to sleep with you?"

"He didn't! He said, 'not here, not like this, it has to be right.'" She turned away in disgust. Then she growled at him, "What do you think of a guy who won't do it with a girl because the setting isn't right?"

Dickman looked at her over the top of his glasses, "Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"I hope my daughter meets him."

That glib comment seemed to summon the silence again, and Dickman cursed himself. He was aware of how fragile sessions could be that the wrong response from him, even honest ones could hinder progress.

She started again, some deep pressure driving the words out of her, "There's something else. The sex thing. I know people like their lemons, but… I don't want to talk about it. Not right now. Maybe later. Yeah, gonna have to be later."

"Anyway, breaking up has got plusses. I mean, being Freddie's girlfriend was hard. He doesn't lie, steal, or cheat, or do anything wrong. Even his mistakes are sweet. When he makes up for being mean or cheap, he's even sweeter and more generous than usual. Me? I was satisfied when I stopped hitting him in the face."

"You hit him?"

"Yeah, that goes way back. I, I hit him a lot. I like getting a reaction out of him. I want him to know I'm there. I want him…

"To pay attention to you."

Sam paused, "Yeah, I never thought of it that way. It's like the meaner I am to him the more I want him to know I'm feeling something."

Dickman's pen moved across the pad some more.

"Anyway, I think he dated me because he felt sorry for me. I was just one of his sweet mistakes. When I gave him a door, he walked through it, man, I should not have given him the door. I always knew he wanted out."

"You view the break up as a mistake?"

"Maybe. I dunno. My mistakes are tough. Freddie pointed out I could have killed whathisname when I put bees in his car. Even when I want to take care of Freddie I mess it up. What was I thinking when I kissed him that night? I love someone that I'm no good for. I can't throw myself at him. That's Pam's style and I'm not going there. Except I DID go there and that didn't work. Wow. What a loser I am."

Dickman made a note about the mother and wanted to ask about the bees, but saw she was clearly being driven to continue.

"Then, right after we broke up I saw him at the Groovy Smoothie with Janice Bruckner and her shoulder boulders." Sam's face was flushed, her body language a twisting bundle of knots. Dickman anticipated her punching the wall.

"Clearly, the break-up is an unresolved issue for you."

"Ya think? How much did you pay for your doctor paper?" she pointed at the diploma on the wall. "I dunno, we weren't like us when we were together. I can't explain how awkward it was. I just want to go back to the way it was."

"Going back might work in some poorly told story but it's rarely an option in real human relationships. Forward is usually the only available course. So, Freddie rebounded very quickly with this other young woman?"

"Yeah, when I saw them it was like someone was touching my stuff, y'know? For a minute I even thought he lied, that he had her waiting for him, but I know him. He wouldn't do that. I know him. I know him so well it's kinda scary."

"So what did you do?"

"I left before they could see me. I wasn't sure I could stop myself from tearing their heads off."

Dickman rocked back in his chair "You could have made a spectacular bid for his attention. The fact that you chose not to act out is what you should be proudest of. That was your adult taking charge. Brava."

"Whatever."

"So tell me about the sex thing," he said.

Sam's eyes lifted up and locked on his, "What?"

"Earlier you said, he glanced down at his pad, "'The sex thing. People like their lemons, but it's gonna have to be later.' I want to understand how you feel about sex."

"I, I haven't done it yet. Freddie and I did stuff, but not, you know, that."

"But you wanted to."

"Yeah, with him. Only with him. It wasn't like…"

"Like what you've seen with your mother."

She looked at him with the optical equivalent of a punch to the stomach.

"Sam, I know you don't want to talk about the past, but your mother has sent you some messages about sex that need to be sorted out. Sex is a critical part of being human. As I understand it, you offered yourself to Freddie and felt rejected when he declined. Is that accurate?"

"Yeah, I guess, I mean, isn't that what all guys want? To, get, y'know, a piece?"

"I understand how you can come to that conclusion, but in fact, it sounds to me like Freddie is behaving in an exceptionally adult and affectionate manner."

"Yeah, that would be him, Mr. Do-the-Right-Thing," her voice was mildly mocking as she rolled her eyes, but Dickman saw a kind of awe in them as they moved.

"You aren't used to men behaving in that manner, are you?"

She shook her head.

"Your mother has brought lots of men home, hasn't she?"

Her gaze focused hard on the therapist and his eyes held her look.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, and some rodent thing in her memory scurried into the dark. "A couple of 'em, tried to," she shivered. "Nothing happened, but they, they…"

"Behaved inappropriately where you were concerned."

Sam's eyebrow flicked up and down, "Yeah, inappropriate—nice word. I didn't let anything bad happen with them, but I saw how they were. In most cases Mom gave them what they wanted and then they were gone. Not all of 'em but most."

"That's what you saw at home, your mother would give sex to men and then they would leave?"

"Yeah, 'cause that's how guys are."

"But not Freddie," he added.

She snorted, "Then I have this guy I've known my whole life and I somehow end up dating him, liking him, liking him enough that even if we aren't right together I want to do it with him, and he, he…."

"Rejected you. This boy you care deeply enough to give yourself to told you, 'no.'"

"Yeah, I tried to give him… God, couldn't he see what I wanted… Hell yes, he saw what I wanted but he said, and she altered her voice again to sound cool and logical, 'No, Sam, not here, not like this. It has to be right.' Her voice returned to normal. "Whatever, I know what he was saying."

Dickman looked at her but she wasn't facing him, "Which was what?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"What was he saying by not having sex with you?"

"That what we had, what I thought we had wasn't real. His 'I love you' was different than mine. That I'm just his buddy or something."

Dickman put his hands together and leaned forward. "Sam, listen to what I have to say here. What you feel is totally normal. Sex between consenting adults is natural and wonderful, but it is one of the most complicated experiences for human beings. Be patient with yourself and your friend. Whoever he really is, you clearly respect and care about him, and he seems to have your best interests at heart. Give each other some time to be friends."

"We should just be friends?"

"To start with, yes. There seems to be some chemistry at work here. Who knows where that chemistry will lead? My wife is my best friend in the whole world. Plus your friendship prior to being a couple was, uh, unconventional. You have some ground to cover. Focus on being his friend, and see where things go. One day at a time as our Twelve Step colleagues teach us."

She had a look on her face that someone might judge as hopeful. It wasn't a fireworks exhibition of joy; instead it was a kind of flickering of possibility.

Dickman looked at the timer,"Oh and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"At some point you are going to have to talk to Freddie."

She made a sour face, "And tell him what?"

"Whatever is on your mind. Don't think about his reaction or worry about the outcome. I suspect there has been a lack of clarity in your relationship with Freddie. The goal here is to make sure you state where you are at."

"But I don't know where I'm at."

"Then he deserves to know that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A low, ethereal chime sounded. That was it. They had barely begun. He doubted he had accomplished much. He was used to that feeling.

"That's our time for today," Dickman said, hiding his disappointment.

Sam made a sound that might have been an acknowledgement or just clearing her throat.

He wanted to do more for her, the odds were not in her favor, he made a final appeal to her aggressive side, "Sam, as a fighter you know that you can't waste an advantage. Your biggest advantage is that you are young, you have time to make mistakes and recover."

Maybe Sam heard that. She nodded and it seemed to Dickman that her usual defenses had relaxed. He looked at her. She didn't appear tough, but quite small and fragile.

"If you want to come back I'd love to know how this plays out," he told her.

"Yeah, it took two busses to get out here. I won't be back." Dickman could almost see her walls erect themselves. Sam Puckett was going back outside. She rose off the sofa and headed for the door that Dickman was holding open for her. As she stepped through she stopped and reached her hand behind her without looking. Dickman took her hand and shook it.

"Thanks," she said, not looking at him.

He gave her hand a friendly squeeze, "Live long and prosper, Sam Puckett."

She shook her head, but a smile cracked across her face, "Geeks own the effin' world," she said and walked out into the hall toward the future, shouldering the familiar, heavy weight of all her yesterdays.

Dickman waited as the next patient entered the room. The tall, gaunt figure with wide, dancing eyes took a seat on the sofa placing his hands on his knees and stared straight ahead.

"Hello Caleb," Dickman said opening the fat manila folder.

"Hello Dr. Dickman. You did Mrs. Benson a lot of good just now."

Dickman set the timer and got set for another round of tales from tomorrow.

"I'm surprised Caleb, your memory is usually quite astounding. That former resident's name is not Benson."

"Not yet," said the mental patient who thought he was from the future.

**A/N**

**Chapter eight will be me trying to get behind the eyes of our star crossed couple in the episodes that follow "iLove You." Chapter eight will be delayed as I finish the one-shot for The Cabal's Valentine's Day mass posting on February 11th. As previously noted, many Cabal members will be putting up new material. The working title for mine is: "iValentine Sometime." It's set in the iApuckettlypse future and is a response to those of you who would like to see me write a happy Freddie. It will post on Saturday February 11****th**** in the evening. Some of you will like it, some will say, "WTF?" **

**Oh yeah, it might be rated M, 'cause it's got some citrus—hey, it's a Valentine story.**

**Nothin' but love for ya, WK.**

**Read**

**~The CABAL~**

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	8. Subtexts: iQ

**Favorites and alerts rock without a doubt, but for those who took the time to read and review chapter seven merit a special thank you:**

**Dwyn Arthur, Oceanmistsupporter, Mary Rachel, Mike2101, jhuikmn08, Urias, Moviepal, redvelvetcupcakes, bluejay63, julefor, dannysamlover, affanoffanfic, pigwiz, LyshaLovesSeddie, Chicagobears, mizkntuhke, cream tea anyone and sincerely sweet.**

**Sorry for the delay. Chapter eight took a while because I put out iValentine Sometime in early February. That was a one-shot future fic with some lemon. Check it out if you are so inclined.**

**Disclaimer: Something clever, something clever, Dan Schneider owns iCarly.**

**Chapter 8: Subtexts for "iQ"**

**Freddie's iQ Subtext**

You are Freddie Benson and right now two pretty girls are laughing at you. You are used to that. You are a geek. But these are your two best friends in the world. Their laughter is disappointing. You have just expressed to them that your mother lost a substantial amount of money on an investment. When she came to you she was scared. It wasn't her, Freddie-let's put-some-ointment-on-that fear; she was afraid down to her bone. She made a thoughtful, researched decision (the only kind Bensons make) and lost. She made a smart choice that failed.

Your vision blurs slightly as you ponder that.

You understand how your choice to date Sam Puckett failed. That was not an intelligent decision. That was crazy. Crazy seems to be a growth industry these days. You even told Sam that wanting to date her was crazy, "I guess we're both crazy," you said at the beginning. But dating her was fun. It might have been more than fun, but there was a lot about it that was very different from what you were used to. Carly had asked you if kissing Sam had started some new chapter in all your lives. At the time you had no answer. You asked for fruit. Now you have an answer:

Yes, this is a new chapter in all your lives and you have no idea how to live it.

Carly is still laughing. You are mad at her. You are mad because she does not appreciate the gravity of your family situation. Does she appreciate the gravity of any situation that doesn't involve her? That isn't fair, Carly is good and kind but you are also angry because she posted on the blog about your break-up with Sam. It hurts to think about that. It stings and makes your eyes snap shut: your break-up with Sam.

Sam. Sam is the other laughing girl. She seems just like always. Like before you dated, before the world changed. She seems fine, unaware or uncaring that the new chapter has begun. Sam is tougher than you. She always has been. Still, how is this so easy for her? She seems like the old Sam, the one who hated you. The one who kissed you once on the fire escape and made you promise never to speak of it. She hasn't hit you or tricked you since you "mutually" broke-up, but that is only a matter of time you think.

Who is she now?

And who are you going to be? Are you going to be the old Freddie? The punching bag, the nub? As a couple you went quite a distance, cleared some real hurdles.

NERD Camp.

When she kissed you that night at the lock-in it sent you to a crazy place first in your mind then later literally to a facility where Sam was hiding. After you left the hospital as a couple the two of you tried to find a new normal, and you thought you were succeeding.

Enough! How many times will you go over it! The road of your mind has deep, raw ruts where these thoughts have dug in. You have to do something new. You have to break this crazy circuit your brain gets into. It would be easier if you could ignore that she is beautiful, that you want to touch her. You never used to notice her hair, never wanted to touch it, to feel it slide smoothly between your fingers. You love to play with her long, sun colored hair.

That desire is just one of the useless leftovers from your time as a couple and that has to stop. Touching is not permitted anymore.

Nor welcome, most likely. She is dating Basketball Benson. Well maybe not dating. But she chose to sit at B-Ball's table in study hall this week so you understand what that means.

Or maybe you don't. Your brain isn't right these days. It hasn't been right since she kissed you at the lock-in. This is bad. Your brain is all you've got.

You explain to the girls what is happening with your mom but they just don't get it, even Sam who should understand the significance of parents not having money. But maybe you don't know her as well as you think.

Your brain is failing you. Benson brains are failing everywhere.

Carly halts the discussion as she sees something more interesting than your problem. She is incredibly excited by a male stranger who looks good to her. Great, another guy that is better than you. You are beginning to think that is the only other kind. Okay, now you are feeling sorry for yourself. Now? You haven't been paying attention to yourself lately have you?

Sam refers to the stranger as a hot guy. She seems interested in the idea. That burns. You are surprised at how much. It isn't just like you never dated, like you never exchanged the powerful incantation, "I love you" it's like you aren't even at the table. You don't exist. She urges Carly to go after the Guy Who is Better than You.

With Sam's (barely needed) encouragement Carly launches herself toward the attractive stranger.

Sam moves. Is she going to sit closer to you? Your breath catches in your throat at the prospect. If she does what will you do?

No. She is moving to see the hot guy.

Chiz.

You feel something inside you tumbling down, landing roughly, palms down, bare knees on a hard surface.

Hot guy is British drawing on an ostentatious verbal lexicon. Okay, you are showing off. Stop it. What king did he reference? Is it classical? Overweight mother's death? What is Carly doing? Why is she acting like a cheerleader hunting for a prom night trophy? You've seen her mating dance before but this is her jamming on steroids. You look over at Sam. Did she look away?

This is weird. You want to ask Sam, "Didn't we kiss? Make out? I touched you in places, ways that our mothers, well, my mother, said would kill me then land my dead body in jail." You remember how if felt, how the two of you sat out on that fire escape and looked at the sky, watched the clouds turn to stars and shared with each other things you hope for, things you were scared of, things that you each dreamt of, how you wanted your lives to be. She let you in. Not just physical places but beyond. Were those moments real? What did Carly write in the blog? "It will be like Sam and Freddie never happened."

Pretty much.

Some kind of commotion with T-Bo erupts. You decide checking into it is better than sitting in this new episode of "Freddie Goes to Hell."

Is Sam following you? Why is Sam following you? Not that you mind, but you've got to figure out who you have to be now. What is your part? Who are you when Sam is around? Are you actually basing your behavior on how Sam Puckett relates to you?

The Kiss. That lock-in kiss changed everything. It's like you are living in some fairy tale told by a half-wit monster with no regard for feelings.

Your ability to focus, to listen to the teacher is damaged, but you watch as T-Bo argues with some inspector. Weirdly when the inspector leaves he says he is divorced and that is more interesting to you than anything else.

You think of yourself as divorced, someone who used to be in a couple.

Who are you now?

Carly brings new guy over. You shake hands with him. Kyle is his name and he tells you that he going to check out iCarly but he does it with fifty dollar words. You can't tell if he is showing off. Maybe nerds in England don't get beat-up for using big words.

Sam asks what he said. You know how smart Sam is, how she fakes ignorance to protect herself in some way you don't quite grasp. His meaning can be deduced on context alone. You don't feel like being a geek, like being the Freddie that lets Sam cheat off his paper, the one that Sam got to know and decided she didn't want to date. You want to be someone else.

Someone Sam wants to date.

You pretend to have no clue what British Kyle just said.

Okay, enough. Pick yourself up and move on, Fredward. Your mother has a problem, T-Bo has a problem. Everyone has problems. Deal with yours. Be a man. You need to help your mother. That is your job right now. Man up Fredbag, you tell yourself and you realize the voice moving you ahead is Sam's.

She is so deep inside you. How will you ever get her out?

**Sam's iQ Subtext**

You are Samantha Joy Puckett and the boy you love is upset. Look at his face, his adorable face. You want to put your palm softly on his cheek and tell him it will be all right. When did you become such a girl? You hate how he makes you feel.

You love how he makes you feel.

_Touch his face._

But you can't touch him anymore. You are back in hiding. Dr. Dick told you to talk to him to be his friend. Carly is his friend and she is laughing at his situation. So you laugh. Maybe that's the friendly thing to do. You kind of suck at caring about people, even people you care about. When you try to help Freddie you mess it up. Like the bee thing.

It scares you to think that the Bensons would have money issues. You know what it's like when your mom doesn't have enough for lights, heat, food and mom fun. Crazy Marissa isn't your mom. She doesn't make bad calls with money. You just assumed she was rich. Like Carly. Isn't everybody in Bushwell loaded? Freddie bought your smoothie tonight like always. How bad could things be?

You need to talk to Freddie. This is the first time you've spent any time with him since the break-up. It wasn't that long ago you saw him and Titserella on their date at the next table. Okay, maybe you are over reacting. They were drinking smoothies and laughing not exchanging tongues. The thought of anyone else kissing him is like chewing glass. Did he buy her smoothie? He shouldn't do that if he is having money trouble. The idea of him being kind to another girl makes your flesh boil.

It took all your strength to sit at this table. You have never fought anything this tough before. Well, yes you have. It's the same opponent, your crazy feelings for this boy. Like reading that letter he wrote you, the one where his words, his stupid words found you in your cold, safe place and made you feel.

You hate how he makes you feel.

He says the chickens his mom bought wouldn't have sex. He is so cute when he talks about sex. Such a sweet little boy, not like the night you broke up. He was sweet, yeah, but like good barbecue, there was heat that rose up with the sweetness, smokin' heat that surprised and bit and made you burn inside. You shift in your seat thinking about it. Freddie Benson makes you wet. Chiz! Where did all that go? You are feeling crazy again. This is just like the way it was before you dated. Like Sam and Freddie never dated, like you never kissed. That's what you made Carly write in the blog: "It will be like Sam and Freddie never happened."

But that isn't what you want.

Carly has gone into her "boy brain." She is getting all wired about some guy, the names change, Griffin, Steven, this guy, but the behavior is the same. You go into girl mode to join her. You pretend to care that a hot guy has been spotted, you urge her to go after him and you move your seat. You consider sliding closer to Freddie but that would be weird.

_Touch him._

You watch Carly go after this guy. He looks okay, but everything is seen through your Freddie glasses now. Because of that short time with him you have such a sense of what you want now, of what you need in this life. What is wrong with you?

Arrrhhhhhh! You are still in that place you were the night of the lock-in! You hate what this feels like, what you have become.

You miss Freddie and he is sitting right next to you.

_Touch him._

This new guy talks funny, like one of the accents you do for the show. You can kind of make out what they are saying. He talks like a teacher. Freddie probably understands everything he is saying. You can't be with a guy like Freddie, not really. You need to find some guy with tats, and a record. Some guy who drinks so much he loses his license but still drives, a guy that lies and has a temper. Some guy you can take home to mom.

You watch Carly and you feel kind of embarrassed for her. Wow. Guys make Carly act nuts, this guy and LOTS of other guys for Carly. Only Freddie makes you feel crazy. Maybe this is normal.

Normal. There it is again. Are you normal? No. Freddie said you could date again if you got more normal. But that will never happen. You can pretend to be another way, but you only know how to be who you are. Why should you change to be with someone? If you find anyone he will have to love you as you are.

Yeah, that's gonna happen. You're such a lovable catch.

Freddie is getting up, without even thinking you follow him. What is up with that?

He is getting involved with T-Bo's problem. That is like him. He's nice. Kind. He helps people. "Be his friend," Doctor Dick said.

Okay. What would a friend do exactly? Help out, you suppose. You watch Freddie as T-Bo and the bald guy argue. You know bald guy's type. You've dealt with enough badges, watched enough notices get delivered to your mom to understand that T-Bo is getting bumped out. Rules don't bother you, you'd keep doing whatever you wanted or needed to do. Authority is overrated. When someone tells you what to do just say, "no," what are they really gonna do? Well unless it's a cop. They don't play. You can say, "no," to a cop but even you don't advise it. You look at the handcuff scar on your wrist. You follow it to your fingers. You see his hand empty at his side.

Right now you want to hold Freddie's hand. But you don't. You could. You are Sam Puckett and you do whatever you feel like doing. Right?

Not anymore. Not where Freddie Benson is concerned.

You hate what he has done to you.

**Concluding Subtexts: iQ**

You are Sam Puckett. You are stretched out on the sofa with your friend Carly facing you. She is depressed because it didn't work out with Kyle the smart guy. Her efforts to meet him on his own ground made her seem like a liar which in this instance she was, because she used your plan to appear to be smarter than she is. She was trying to be with someone that wasn't a good fit, to force an attraction into something more.

But it doesn't feel like what happened with you and Freddie.

Carly is as down about this break-up as she ever gets. It is the same sadness she displayed when her favorite nail color, "Shallow Salmon" was discontinued. She is bothered, truly hurt, but it is not the same as what you are feeling. She isn't sobbing or going to Troubled Waters to talk to someone. She has moved on, confident that other boys are waiting in some line somewhere for an opportunity to date Carly Shay. What does it feel like to be Carly? To be so certain that everything in life is good? How did she get that way?

She isn't abnormal like you.

You feel proud of yourself, however. This week you helped Freddie Benson, your ex, your… friend when he needed it. True, he and Gibby (Gibby can sew?) did the heavy lifting, but you supported him, you hung with him and without a single put-down or incredibly, any physical violence, you helped him construct a deception, a trick on Crazy, his mom.

Maybe you just changed Bensons to goof on. You are going to figure out this Freddie-as-friend thing. Still you have to talk to him. That was what Dick said. You have to talk to him.

Freddie comes in with T-Bo. You struggle not to look at Freddie. They announce that their lie worked. This is unlike Freddie. His mind should tell him how hard it will be to continue this lie. You are a master liar and you know how difficult it will be carry this on for a year. Still, you don't want to ruin Freddie's first major put-over on an adult, on his mother no less.

You are smiling. Being Freddie's friend is better than nothing at all.

Two problems have been addressed, the rocky Benson financial state and T-Bo having a decent place to live. All of you dance to celebrate. You watch Freddie move. He is cute and clunky in his actions, and you remember something, something from the beautiful letter, the letter you have read over and over again. In the letter he said he wanted to learn to dance with you.

You look at him dancing with you just a few feet away.

Incredibly far away.

* * *

><p>You are Freddie Benson and you have successfully helped supplement the family income during a time of crisis. You got your mom convinced that T-Bo is an upright, church going, possibly Republican citizen. You have, with Sam and Gibby's help taken an idea of Spencer's and lied to your mother to create a fantasy, a dreadlocked, food impaling fantasy that will be living in the spare bedroom for the next year.<p>

You really are crazy.

Throughout all of this Sam has not mocked you, hit you, nor poked you with that ginormous fork. Despite her saying coldly that she"likes it when your mom cries," she has helped you make things better for your mom. You are not sure what that means, but she hasn't run up and kissed you, or tried to hold your hand and begged you to try dating her again, either. She seems fine with this new relationship.

You are getting used to the crashing sensation that realization creates in your stomach.

She has been your friend when you needed one. If that is the best you can do, then a man would accept that. And you are a man.

Things are back to the way they were.

Things are totally different.

This is the new chapter in all your lives and you are wondering how long it is and about the content in the unread pages ahead.

And when will it feel better?

**A/N**

**The letter Sam references above is the content of my story, "iCan't Send This." Check it out if you have the time. It ain't required reading in school-yet.**

**The next chapter will be subtexts for "iStill Psycho" and some tidbits from the other episodes that wrapped up the fifth season. I'll see how those develop. I'll then conclude with some chapters that will leave our couple, me and maybe you ready for the final season to start. This story is going some odd places but I'm having a good time, hope you are too. Please leave a review either way.**

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	9. Aftertext: iStill Psycho

**Thousands of years ago, several of you took the time to read and review chapter eight. A special thank you to:**

**Oceanmistsupporter, Mike2101, TheWrtrInMe, jhuikmn08, Moviepal, bluejay63, dannysamlover, affanoffanfic, julefor, ChicagoBears, pigwiz and mizkntuhke.**

**Sorry I've been away for so long. Sometimes saving the world takes all my attention. Hey, if I get it wrong that's the whole world, folks. No more cheeseburgers, no more reality TV, no more FanFic.**

**Speaking of FanFic, if you get a chance, check out You Write What? At **bloggingfanfiction dotblogspot dotcom. **A site dedicated to writing Fan Fiction.**

**Disclaimer: Dan Schneider owns iCarly, Victorious, and lots of other properties. Not sure about his house and car, I think he makes payments.**

**Chapter 9: Aftertext for "iStill Psycho"**

Freddie Benson's first sexual experience would be getting raped in prison. He was sure of it as his mother's shrieking voice and wildly waving arms boiled up inside his brain while he drove the stolen car in the rain. It was like he was living a country song. With only his learner's permit in his pocket he imagined some black/Hispanic/Russian/southern, tattooed giant with gold grilled teeth in a dimly lit steamy shower. As soon as he tried to settle on the ethnicity his mother's voice then berated him for stereotyping.

He felt like chiz. It was a reasonable reaction to his circumstances. Once again his friendship with two certain girls and the show they created was making him push the envelope of his usually safe, kind of unchallenging existence. And his head hurt, in back, where Carly had stun-penned him. He had been stung there before by Sam, months ago, but this time it hurt and there was a weepy burn welt on his skin.

But what really stuck in his throat was the presence of his ex-girlfriend, Sam Puckett in the passenger seat. She sat silent, pressed into the door staring out into the rain blackened night, her fingers keeping time with some song by Lady Taco playing on the radio.

Ex-girlfriend. How does someone in high school have an ex-anything? He wasn't old enough to buy alcohol but he could have an ex-girlfriend? He hated the sensation that the relationship was over just because she didn't like him anymore. Okay, that wasn't accurate but that was how it felt. She dated him and decided that he wasn't a good fit. He could not believe how much that hurt, especially since he really still liked her quite a bit, more than he could admit to anyone, including himself, and certainly not to her. He only hoped that his general misery was not visible to the world. He might feel lame but he would hate to look lame.

The final entry in his list of lamentations was the hot, molten ash of the last few insane days.

Psycho.

What on Earth had convinced them that whack-job Nora should be forgiven and allowed her freedom? Only Carly had wanted her detained but frankly Carly's judgment had been suspect lately in Freddie's mind. It was her view of relationships that made Sam question theirs, add to that his anger about Carly posting the Sam and Freddie break-up on the web site and you had a recipe for a dissatisfied, Carly-doubting Freddie.

He was coming to grips with the new normal, his hidden, relationship "limp" when nut case Nora did a total repeat of the first time she imprisoned them. This time she had help from two crazy adults, of which there appeared to be no shortage in the world. The gang got out when his mother and T-Bo drove a motorcycle through the front door and put the beat-down on the Derschlitt family. His mom could be one bad mother when she got cranked up.

It was indeed, psycho, like something you see on final season, middle-of-the-road TV, like _Celebrities Under Water_.

Under water. As the wiper blades slashed back and forth on the glass Freddie squinted ahead, straining to see the highway before them. Rain danced on the pavement illuminated in the mixed light from the fragmented early AM traffic and overhead lamps, taking on weird shapes that made him think about _Galaxy Wars_ and how the heroes had to triumph over fierce, shape shifting enemies on the water planet, Toth.

Tonight the former couple was on a rescue mission. It had occurred to all of them at about the same time that their friend Gibby had been forgotten, left behind at the Derschlitt home or somewhere. Their plan to go get him was something out of a sitcom and bore little resemblance to any scheme real people would construct. That was how Freddie found himself driving Spencer's car without Spencer's permission with Sam Puckett as his co-pilot. Instead of getting his mother out of bed, instead of doing anything that a smart adult would do, he chose to illegally drive to get Gibby in a car taken without permission in a blinding storm.

Why?

Because somehow it worked out that he and Sam would go together.

Talk about psycho.

His mind had not been right since the night of The Kiss. He arced back and forth between the Freddie Benson he knew and this crazy, hormonal teenager who loved kissing someone who had abused him his whole life. Now he was some new guy. Some guy who forgot about friends, who stole cars and who wanted so badly to touch the girl sitting in the next seat it made his whole body twitch.

Their relationship, if that was what you could call it now was some low-rent funhouse ride, Tunnel of Suck, maybe, this thing that made no sense that they did not talk about. She was dating the school's basketball star (Really? Something seemed like he was jumping ahead of the evidence on that one), she had helped him get T-Bo "reconfigured" to get an "Approved by Marissa Benson" sticker. Sam had been un-Samlike in her niceness to him up until recently. The abuse returned when she'd smacked him with a peanut after they'd finished a show. He felt almost nostalgic about it. It was like old times, like they had never dated.

_It will be like Sam and Freddie never dated. _Carly's web post had said.

Sam surely did not care that he had been "tampered with" by Nora. She and Carly just stood there eating cake while the psycho pursued him, pinned him, and ate his face. Neither friend helped him. Both just ate cake and watched like it was some play being put on in the high school auditorium.

What was in that cake that would turn his two best friends into such bit…No, he could not use that word, not about them. Okay, not about anyone he tells the portable mother in his mind.

He wanted to talk to Sam. He had never had a hard time talking to her, but now she was different. They were different. He wondered why she didn't mock his slow driving in the storm. He knew what she would say, he envisioned her imitating him, referring to him as "Old Man Benson" insulting his 10:00, 2:00 position on the wheel and making a "ning, ning, ning" sound to illustrate his pokey pace. Even her animosity was better than this silence. He had to find some place to stand in all of this. He stole a glance over at her.

Sam sat strapped in, her body pressed into the door staring out the rain blurred glass. It appeared like she wanted to jump out of the vehicle and run in the muddy, rain swept hills they were passing.

She too felt like chiz. She was finally alone with Freddie in a quiet place. When they were dating that alone time was a key goal. When they were not in public, when they were safely tucked away from Carly, Gibby, Spencer, Crazy and the regular inhabitants of their lives they could give each other full physical attention, the pure enjoyment of which surprised both of them. But tonight she had impulsively agreed to go along not so they could make out, but so she could talk to Freddie. That was something therapist Dick had told her she had to do. "Talk to him, Sam," she heard the psychiatrist say.

But she had so much to say she couldn't get anything out. It was like the parking lot after a concert, nothing moves in the way you want it to. So she sat in silence. There was a storm of thoughts in her skull, and some of the clouds were terrible, much more frightening than the thundering skies above them now. Something awful had happened that made her cringe when she considered it.

One ugly reality was that she had started hitting him again. It began with the skit she failed to finish for the show. In the skit she got hit in the lip with a peanut. It really stung and something about the pain seemed to rile her up. When Freddie was poised for the last pudding cup she hit him with a peanut and raced downstairs and took the treat that had been earmarked for him. Nobody seemed to think much of it. It was Sam normal; she did it like something she remembered from a past life. Freddie acted like he always did, he whined, and Carly treated it like Seattle rain—it was expected.

It was like the time they spent as a couple had never happened that they had never changed for that short span.

But it got worse.

Much worse.

When crazy Nora had them trapped trying to "undo the taint" of her broken birthday Sam found herself feeling furious at being helpless. She watched as another person told her what to do, as another woman, admittedly a total fruit basket, chased and kissed Freddie. She stood there eating cake. The cake was really good, but she felt oddly removed from herself. The combination of helplessness and wrath did something she did not foresee. It made her immobile. Was there something in that cake?

Then it got darker. When Carly noted that boys were cute when they sleep Sam felt denied, deprived. She would never have predicted her reaction. How could Carly have the freedom to say Freddie looked cute and Sam who had actually been his real girlfriend be denied that option?

Yes, he did look cute laying there. Adorable. Why was he sleeping? Why wasn't he upset at being a hostage? At being kissed? Sam knew those thoughts were crazy, he had been upset, he was endearing in his outrage at being "tampered with" but she could not suppress the insane thoughts that charged around like a riot in her brain. Thoughts of Freddie in a new trio: Janice Bruckner and her bazooms. Or was that a quartet? It was like a word problem in math class and she hated school. Freddie had wasted no time after their break-up in finding someone new, someone better than mama. The world was full of girls smarter, prettier, more right for Freddie than her, but Janice Bruckner? Couldn't Freddie see that she was just some tit monster from one of his science fiction shows?

When Carly commented on how cute he was the fury rushed out of Sam like hot flames from a burning room. She upended the sofa he was on dumping him on the floor like a spilled bag of groceries.

The shadow got deeper. She shuddered as the next events played out in her memory. He said something and she started hitting him fast and hard. It felt good, touching him again, expressing the intense feelings he unearthed in her. It was like a make-up mirror she used in the pageants. Everything was reversed like all mirrors but this one had more sides, she would reach for something she saw and miss it completely. Who was Sam Puckett when she was helpless? Who was Sam Puckett post Freddie Benson?

Then it went dark, terribly, way-past-midnight dark.

Freddie conceived a plan (just like before) to rescue them. But it involved risk. He needed to cancel the tracking chip in his head. To conclude its signal so Crazy Marissa would know to come rushing to find him. How could they cancel the signal? The chip had to be broken, but without surgery some kind of electrical jolt was needed.

Sam had the shock pen that she had used to drop him in the past. When she was going to use it on him to fry the chip he said it.

Why did he say what he said?

Why would he say such a hurtful thing?

As Sam prepared to use the shock pen to burn out the chip, he told her no, that he wanted Carly to do it.

How could he?

Why would he?

In the end, it was what she always knew, always feared. It was Carly. Carly, who was just a friend, Carly who dated him for an hour, Carly who gets everything in life she ever wants. Carly that he pursued for years and whom he swore he was not interested in anymore. When they were in real danger he still preferred Carly to HER?

She tasted blood just now, and she realized she had bitten her lip. She looked out into the rain soaked night and sucked the iron taste on her tongue. How could he? After the things she had told him, the thoughts she had trusted him with, the things they did together, the intimacy they shared he said these words:

"Because Carly cares about me."

"BECAUSE CARLY CARES ABOUT ME!"

"**BECAUSE CARLY CARES ABOUT ME!"**

The words exploded in her head like cannon fire. Sam showed no outward sign then, she never showed her tender emotions. Pucketts don't cry, they don't share hurt, but they will do payback. How dare he say those words? Did he even really think them?

Didn't he remember what she told him standing outside the elevator, she said, "I love you too." Didn't he know how hard those words came?

A car passed them honking its horn and throwing a thick wave of water over their hood. The driver was probably outraged at how cautiously Freddie was piloting the car. She looked over at him now, staring nervously ahead into the raging storm. He blinked in and out of existence as the car passed under lights on the highway or the lightening flashed around them.

_HIT HIM._

It was the memory of what she did next after the shock pen stunned him that stopped her from hitting him as he drove. She took a breath and the rain smell in the air mixed with the blood taste on her lips. No, hitting him was not what she had to do. Unrestrained fury is what caused her to do something she hated herself for.

After the shock pen put him down, she took the pen, knelt down over his helpless body and shocked him again.

And again.

And again.

Watching him tremble and jerk with each charge she didn't care about the chip, she just wanted him to hurt, to be sorry for saying what he said.

She shuddered and realized she had contracted into a ball in her seat.

"You okay?" he asked, turning down the radio.

She jolted and stabbed a look over at him, _What do you care?_ She wanted to hiss. Without words she stretched out and turned the radio up way too loud so it echoed the rage crashing inside her. _You need to talk to him, Sam._ Dr. Dick told her, his voice was kind and clear despite the music.

When they passed under a light she noticed Freddie's white knuckles on the wheel. He was squeezing, the tension emphasizing his knuckles. She liked to look at his hands. They were a weird combination of techie, never-held-a-shovel soft and hobbyist scratched and scraped. His hands were very gentle with her and she had been surprised at how much she enjoyed his tenderness. But the tension in him now told her he was scared. She had seen him scared enough to know the look. Why was he scared?

It shot into her like the inspiration for a skit. Holy chiz, Freddie Benson with no license was illegally driving the interstate in someone else's car without permission in a rain storm that would cause animals to pair up. She knew in his mind he was already arrested, raped in prison, shanked dead in the yard and being refused entrance into heaven.

He was doing something that terrified him to help a friend. He was doing what he thought was right. All her life she had been with people who did the easy thing, the thing that made them happy, her father left to find something he liked better than her, her mother wouldn't go out in the rain unless she thought it would please a man, but the Boy-Who-Follows-the-Rules seated next to her was breaking the law to do right by someone he cared about.

She looked over at him driving this car in the rain. The fear he was fighting, the intensity of his stare, the way he kept swallowing, but he was not sharing the fear, he was sitting on it. She stared at him like he was some inexplicable event, a magic trick to be explained.

Her anger at him was gone, like smoke in a spring wind. Something in her core seemed to swell in a surging, vital manner as she considered him. She was admiring him, not in a girly way because he was handsome or because his arms had gotten bigger, but because she was seeing him become something, he was growing into a man right before her eyes.

Her heart seemed to open up in her chest, a warm, sunny sensation. It was the Lock-in feeling. Freddie was doing something amazing (for him—for her swiping a car and driving without a license was just a Friday night when her two best friends couldn't come out and play).

"Sam? Are you okay?" he asked. His face came into focus as his head moved back and forth between looking at her and the swampy blacktop ahead. There was concern in his posture and voice. He was really worried about her. Even after what she did he still cared, he protected her. When the violence erupted at the house and she was about to leap into it, he warned her back, "Careful Sam, those are sharp."

Simple words, "Careful Sam, those are sharp," but she read volumes into them.

Had anyone besides a few teachers ever worried about her? Even Carly accepted that Sam was partly an engine of destruction and seemed more concerned about the quality of the dairy in Sam's butter sock than the thought of Sam ever being hurt by her activities.

With excitement and terror she recognized that the lock-in feeling was evolving into something more than some idiot crush. It did not care what she wanted, what she was afraid of, it was growing inside her like some ancient army picking up soldiers as it marched toward an approaching battlefield.

She almost hurled herself at him, only the seatbelt held her in place.

She had to talk to him.

Now.

She reached forward and turned the radio off, and as she did Freddie's phone chimed the _Galaxy Wars_' "Flight of the Zircon Reflection" music indicating he had a text. Before they were a couple _Galaxy Wars_ was stupid. Now, she recognized the characters, knew a lot of trivia. _Galaxy Wars_ was still stupid, but she had changed because of him. Oh the things this boy had done to her.

She looked at Freddie's blinking phone on the charging dongle and picked it up, "You got a text," she said, looking at the glowing display.

She punched in the code and read the full message, "It's from Gibby."

"What's he sa… Hey, you know the pin code to my phone?"

"I watched you punch in that code a thousand times." Neither mentioned it was her birthday, but Freddie knew from a security point of view it was too obvious. Oh the things this girl had done to him.

"He says check your e-mail."

"So, check my e-mail," instead of holding hands and kissing this was how their intimacy had eroded, the new Freddie lets the new Sam read his e-mail. Generation love.

She seemed to hesitate, damn Gibby's always rotten timing, she needed to talk to Freddie before the moment slipped away, but then she tapped the mail icon on the display. She scanned the subjects and noted one from Janice Bruckner. The subject was, "Last night." She felt the fuse light in her stomach.

"What's he say?" Freddie asked.

Like she did with her mother's failures she ignored the pain and moved on. She found a message with Gibby's name and read it. She started to laugh, "He was stuck in the chimney this whole time," she needed to laugh because the thought of Freddie with "Big Uns" Bruckner was burning hot now. "Last night"? What had he done? She tasted acid in her mouth.

"Oh no, all this time he's been stuck in the chimney?" Freddie moaned.

"Yeah, he says some kid's dad finally helped him get down the chimney and out. "

"We are the worst friends ever," Freddie said shaking his head.

The words landed with the bite of ice water, "What? You and me?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Freddie said bitterly.

"You mean you and I aren't friends?" she felt sick in her stomach.

"I mean we should be ashamed of ourselves."

"Huh? I don't…"

"Sam, Gibby crawled up a chimney for us, got stuck and we totally forgot about him. We left him behind. Friends don't do that." Freddie looked genuinely horrified as he explained it.

Sam felt a mix of relief and shame. Selfishly she was glad that he still considered her a friend, but it was true she was not concerned about Gibby. Gibby was never her favorite, she only relented and let him in the show because fans clearly raved about his shirtless antics, but Freddie was right. They had totally forgotten someone who had tried to help them. No wonder she and Freddie broke up. They were different people, and Sam was more aware than ever that she wasn't the good kind of different. She had no chance of ever being "normal" and Freddie could never be her kind of "abnormal."

"Who's phone is he using?" Freddie asked.

"What?" she replied dully trying to shake off this latest indication of her shortcomings.

"Our phones were destroyed. Gibby doesn't have all the phones I do."

"F Mobile doesn't have all the phones you do," while an exaggeration, it was true that Freddie Benson had a parade of phones amid his torrent of technology. "The world's full of phones Fredbear, he probably borrowed one, who cares?"

He was oddly silent then finally he said, "What did you call me?"

"When?"

"Just now, you called me 'Fredbear.'"

"I did not."

"Yes you did."

"I said 'Fredbag,'" she did not know what she had said for sure. Great, now the Lock-in feeling was making her betray herself, like that actor guy with that disease that makes his body just twitch no matter he wants it to do.

Freddie wasn't sure what to make of it. Maybe he misheard her, but Fredbear was his mom's term of endearment. Maybe it was wishful thinking. His brain was no longer the keen instrument it once was. Hadn't he spent an entire Sunday afternoon talking to himself?

Finally he said, "Find out where he is, tell him we're close to Nora's place."

"Dude, it's an e-mail, not chat."

"Text him back," his tone was harsh, revealing the seething stress under his skin. That was weird, but what was weirder was she wasn't throwing his phone out the window and telling him to go climb his own thumb. Dating Freddie had changed her, made her into someone who could sometimes control her temper, someone she did not understand. Is that what relationships do?

They had more to talk about before they picked up Gibby.

He slowed the car to take his exit and they passed a sign for a 24 hour buffet called "The Trough."

"Pull over," she said.

He looked past her as he executed a right turn off the ramp.

"I'm serious Freddie, stop this car."

"Sam, we don't have time for you to stop and eat."

"What are you talking about?"

"That sign, the buffet," he cocked his head to suggest the sign back the way they came. Without taking his eyes off the wheel he reached into the backseat for his school back pack, "I figured you'd get hungry so I packed these." He pulled out some FatCakes and pre-cooked bacon.

He handed them to her without looking as he squinted through the windshield that streamed with water, "I can't read the street signs. I need Manderson."

She stared at the pile of food. They weren't dating, but he thought of her like he always did. A tiny devil on her shoulder whispered that it wasn't affection, Freddie Benson prepares for everything, but she chose to believe he did it for her. Is love a choice?

"Freddie, please stop the car."

That got his attention. He ran a red light but the deserted hour allowed them to live to drive on. The word "please" from Sam was a game changer. That word alone underscored the importance of whatever was on her mind. He pulled the vehicle into a Grab 'N Go lot.

He put the car in park, and turned to look at her. She was completely in the spell of the food. The wrappers were off and the provisions were vanishing into her lovely face. It was like watching a wild animal that had burrowed into a pantry.

"Well?" he asked into the tempest of eating that was occurring across from him.

She paused, torn between her mind and the chain reactions that made her a force of nature, that made her a figure to be reckoned with on the streets, the Sam essence that kept her alive in a hard world. A strip of bacon hung out of her mouth, a blob of fat cake filling stuck on her right cheek. He reached forward and wiped it away. Not long ago he would have held his finger to her lips and she would have licked it clean, but that aspect of their relationship was gone. He felt a rising and falling sensation in his gut. Thrilled at finally touching her and mildly crushed that the old sequence was no longer appropriate. As he rubbed the white blob into sticky nothingness between his fingers he once again found himself missing a girl who was just inches away from him.

Silence hung between them. Even after Sam's audible chewing and swallowing had concluded.

"Okay, can we go we go get Gibby now?" he asked.

Sam shook her head, "No, not yet." She seemed to gather herself up and then she asked, "Why did you say it?"

"Say what?"

"What you said when I was going to use the shock pen on you."

He froze, like a man staring over the edge at some hideous fall he might have to take. He did not ask her to clarify; he didn't pretend and say something like, "huh? What did I say?" he went immediately to it like he always did when he was caught doing something wrong, "Because I was mad."

He looked straight at her, not like so many who gave her bad news but looked away. That gesture alone sent a powerful message straight inside her. She was also strangely excited, the idea of him being angry, having any strong feeling related to her was like a cool breeze, her internal pot of crazy-for-him was being stirred madly, "What were you mad about?"

Wow. Where to start? B-Ball Benson? Nora? Not liking him anymore? "Well, there's a lot of stuff. You didn't care about it when Nora was all over me," he sounded quiet, reluctant.

Her stomach felt incredibly empty, a sudden, terrible hunger came from nowhere ignoring the Fat Cakes and bacon she had just ingested. "I did care, I just…it was so…"

"Don't tell me how the good the cake was," he said, without a trace of humor in his voice.

She was no good at this chiz, so she just said it: "Why are you dating Janice Bruckner?"

"Not buyin' it Sam, no cake is that-what?"

Silence.

"What did you just say?" he asked. The rain thrummed steadily on the car.

Her lips went tight like when she said sorry for kissing him that beautiful spring lock-in night, and her words came out in a mumbled rush, "Whatup with you and Bruckner?"

"Huh? I'm not…" his surgically sharp mind surged ahead, why would Sam care? Was she jealous? He could use that…

No. He couldn't. She did not deserve to have her feelings played with. Even if he didn't measure up as what she wanted, he would not play games on her. He would not disrespect her like that.

He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, "I'm not dating Janice Bruckner. I think she wants to, but, well, she, she, oh butter. This is mean," he seemed agitated as he looked out the window.

She braced herself for a blistering attack. A final explanation of why he didn't fight for the relationship that night in the elevator. "What?" she finally said.

He looked out through fogged glass at the Grab 'N Go, the glowing beer signs, a heavyset woman running into the building in her pajamas.

"How long have you had your eye on Basketball Benson?" he asked back.

She sighed, "Okay Freddie, maybe I deserve you being mean, but -what?"

Freddie stared straight at her, "Are you going out with B-Ball Benson?"

Her face was the definition of perplexed, like he had just asked something in a language she didn't speak, "No, I'm not dating Tony."

"Who?"

"Tony, that's B-Ball's real name."

"So, why did you start sitting at his table in study hall?"

She was a master liar, lots of fictions rushed up like popcorn blasting out of hot oil. But she closed her eyes and spoke the truth, "I didn't want to sit with you."

It felt like jagged metal in his chest when she said it. Freddie closed his eyes, "Oh."

She was about to finish the thought, that she couldn't sit with him because she was drawn to him like a compass needle. How did she tell him she didn't trust herself to keep her hands off him? She began to explain when she watched him massage the welt on his neck. He winced as he rubbed the ugly, cigarette burn-like mark. A chill went through her. She had done that.

"Sorry about your neck," her voice was tiny, hollow, almost unrecognizable as she offered her regret.

"Huh? Oh yeah, that is so weird. Who knew that a novelty pen could burn so bad? I wonder what Carly did, it didn't leave a mark the time you used it. Man, she must have let me have it good. So much for Carly trying to be gentle, right?"

Sam's mouth seemed to fill with sand. She looked out the window avoiding his eyes, "You don't remember?"

"No, it's all pretty fuzzy," he touched the vaguely moist burn. How did Marissa's hawk eye of health miss that? Maybe because everyone was paying attention to Spencer who had been the most obviously abused.

She sighed. This was something else she had to come clean on. One more Samtastic moment she had to own. First she set the stupid trap in the elevator, then she scarred the boy she "loved." Sam felt out of gas, "We should get going," she knew very well how to run from the scene of a crime.

"Why would you think I was dating Janice?"

She had little energy left for this talk she had been so compelled to initiate, "I dunno, she's all cheerleadery and chiz. Plus she's got air bags."

"I guess I never noticed," he said absently, but his lips began to curl into a broad grin.

She looked over at him, her eyes narrowed to slits, her lips a slash across her face. He appeared to be looking at signs but the smile on his face was huge, the laughter shaking his chest.

"You hobknocker!" She did her 'logical nerd' replica of his voice, "'I guess I never noticed.' You can spot those things from the Space Needle!"

Freddie let the laugh out, the first time he had laughed for real since the break-up. "Yeah, they are kind of hard to miss."

Sam also began to quake with laughter. "So, what's it like, dating her and the twins?" she asked, using her hands in front of her to suggest Janice's endowment.

He looked over, "I'm not dating her. She doesn't even know me. She likes the vampire voice. She keeps coming around, but, I dunno."

"Have you touched them?"

"Sam…"

"I'll bet she'd let you touch them."

"Sam!" the look on his crimson face was pure Freddie, the little boy she grew up with and could frustrate with the ease and precision of a master craftsman. It was a rare genius with no marketable value in today's economy.

"Just sayin…" it was her turn to grin wickedly. She loved that he was nervous, she loved that he was angry, she loved that he was embarrassed about breasts. It was becoming pretty clear to her that she just loved him. What wasn't clear was what she was supposed to do about it. Freddie Benson was being added to that list of things she wanted but couldn't have.

"She laughs," he said suddenly.

"What?" Sam replied.

"I shouldn't tell you this, but, she, she laughs at my jokes and even I know I'm not that funny. But when she laughs she…I can't describe it, but it, it…" and he stopped there. Instead of telling her what was wrong with Janice he said, "she doesn't laugh like you." He wanted to go on, to say how Janice wasn't as beautiful, as talented, as smart, as special, he wanted to say, "She doesn't make me feel the way you do." But he didn't. He read a lot into Sam's not wanting to sit at his table that he shouldn't have.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss you, us, uh, not sitting in study hall together, I mean."

"Really?"

"Yeah, a lot."

"Why?" she wanted him to say everything he didn't say in the elevator, she wanted to hear that he missed them, and they should try again.

He considered telling her he missed her, that Carly was wrong, that they were better together than apart, but he knew Sam despised weakness, that if she wanted to be back in a couple she'd have made it happen like she did before. So he settled on, "Without you it's just a table of nerds. You know how irritating that is."

She pushed down the disappointment that shot up inside. It wasn't what she wanted to hear from someone she loved, but that was the Sam Puckett story wasn't it? She knew how to roll with lowered expectations, "Well, I could come back I suppose. I'm not really Tony's type."

"What, he doesn't like gorgeous, hilarious, butt-kicking women?"

She blushed and her heart sped up in her chest. Damn she hated being girly, "Yeah, something like that."

They stared at each other in the muted light, the rain rattling down on the car roof. He was thrilled that she would sit with him again, a tiny, ironic, victory, because Sam Puckett was once his greatest foe. Now, he just wanted to keep her around. Maybe, over time he could become someone she wanted to be with. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could do. He'd make this new thing work. He smiled at her.

She smiled back. She was thrilled that he was not dating Janice Bruckner. Whatever he had been doing with her, whatever "last night" meant in the e-mail subject she knew that Freddie Benson couldn't lie, no, he could lie, but he wouldn't. Sam Puckett, master liar was confronted by the incredible power of something true.

In a movie or a better story, they might have kissed and the credits would roll, but in the real world they were stressed and tired and they still had to find Gibby and drive back. The only parts of a great story they got were the sudden stopping of the rain, the music of morning birds, and a burning orange ball rising in the eastern sky.

The storm had passed but it would never be like Sam and Freddie had never dated.

**A/N**

**No, it's not over, not just yet. I'm changing this fic up again as I chase its conclusion. Chapter ten is underway, but no promises on the next posting. For the Seddie nostalgic among us, this month is the anniversary of "iOMG" the episode that drew me into FanFiction. It has been quite a ride.**

**Happy Easter if that is something you celebrate. Happy weekend wherever you are, whoever you are.**

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	10. Brilliant Disguises

**Always grateful for the alerts and favs, but I extend a nod and knowing wink to those who read and review. For chapter nine, thank you:**

**dannysamlover, Moviepal, TheWrtrInMe, affanoffanfic, Mike2101, jhuikmn08, Samantha Nicole Trewyn, GeekQuality, Chicagobears, Seddiefan040911, Dwyn Arthur, Julefor and Pigwiz.**

**Yes, I saw iOAR. After I picked my jaw off the carpet I set my gigantic intellect into motion (people who know me are hugely amused at that statement), and now, as a story teller am trying to tell a deeper tale about our heroes. I can honestly say, "Thank you Dan."**

**Disclaimer: Dan Schneider owns iCarly, but Joss Whedon is DA MAN! Stop reading this now, and go see _The Avengers_! **

**Chapter 10: Brilliant Disguises**

Everything went back to the way it was before Sam and Freddie dated—sort of. Everyone acted like the dating never happened and certainly no one spoke of it. The two behaved themselves and generally operated like friends in the conventional sense. It was business as usual, people looked a little older and there was still laughter but something was missing. It was like biting a brilliant yellow lemon wedge and tasting only water.

Freddie ran the camera and watched as they finished a segment with a shirtless Gibby. Shirtless Gibby returned in response to fan outcry on the iCarly site. Gibby rolled his eyes and submitted to a skit of putting various things on his bare back and having him dance while guessing what had been applied.

Eyes gazing into the viewfinder Freddie studied both girls. The brunette was rail thin, pretty, bubbly, he had known her since childhood. She had never been truly romantically interested in him and today that felt very easy and good. Somehow that made her attractive.

The blonde drew his eyes like metal to a magnet. She was curvy and he felt like he was looking at her from his hips. While he had known her about as long as the brunette he had learned about her in ways that now made him ache. She was filled with good but none of it was easy.

He exhaled heavily.

After the trip to get Gibby something had changed in Freddie. It started as a nugget, a tiny almost nothing, like that grain of sand in an oyster that becomes a pearl. As much as he liked Sam, as much as he probably loved her, he doubted whatever they had between them was going anywhere. The thought was painful, but even though he remembered their couple time with profound warmth, he finally was able to look at his fear that her "love" expressed as they stepped out of the elevator was just a polite way of saying, "Dude, thanks, but you and I just don't have the ingredients to make a meal." He smiled that Sam might think it just that way. Whatever it was they had, Sam and Freddie was a lot of work.

Freddie had started to reconcile himself to being some kind of transitional step for Sam. His rationale, because Freddie was all about being rational, was that Sam had to date a dull, normal guy so she could file off her rougher, abnormal parts in order to move on to the right guy, or maybe she had to prove she couldn't be with a normal guy, the theory was still knitting itself together in his brain.

His brain.

His brain, the source of his power, that component that he depended on to get through life had changed. Maybe it was the hormones that coursed through him, maybe it was the relentless confusion that was his daily companion since The Kiss, but he was aware he was becoming someone else, and he was not sure he recognized that man, or even liked him very much. He had thoughts that scared him, thoughts about his friends, thoughts about girls, and sometimes he could not align those feelings and thoughts with the man he wanted to be. There was another Freddie now, a darker, heated persona that didn't think so much as feel. Call him Lower Freddie. Higher Freddie, the brain, had to ride herd on Lower Freddie.

He watched the stick-drawing-brunette smile at him and the world through his viewfinder. Did he feel something again for Carly? Sure. She was his friend and strangely it seemed like maybe he had a chance there. It was—safe, he could imagine asking her out and not minding the rejection. She really did care about him, he knew that. Probably like she cared about Spencer. She had rejected him most of his life and he was cool with it. He almost welcomed it at this point. He knew how to chase Carly. He was failing badly at getting over Sam. His only success was that he was pretty sure no one could tell how he felt.

He looked over at Sam. The thought of asking her out sent a shiver through him. Sam would surely reject him though maybe not cruelly. She had changed in how she treated him. She had become nicer. They worked together to get T-Bo past his mom's inspection. They'd worked together in the past but not without destroying stuff (think Mr. Galini's computer). The thought of her turning him away, even kindly, stopped the breath in his chest.

Sam was his friend like Carly, but he didn't ache when he looked at Carly. When he looked at Sam his eyes hungered and Lower Freddie uncoiled, the sensation scaring him as deeply as that shadow in his closet when he was four.

Freddie was pretending. He hid what he felt because he was no longer sure what he felt, for Sam, for Carly, for girls, for his whole life. When they went to Hollywood he hid behind a facial appliance. That disguise was nothing compared to one he wore now.

As Carly and Sam finished another bouncing, effervescent exit from the show Sam snuck a glance at Freddie. Her disguise was coming together nicely. She had talked to Freddie like Dr. Dick had told her to, and they found a kind of bland peace. She had regret about how she treated him when they were both prisoners, but her life had many, many regrets and she had gotten used to toting those around. Her friends were used to her behavior and never questioned how she moved ahead, eating, sleeping and seeking self-gratification in an effort to numb herself against the grim realities of her origins and her likely end. Certainly no one was looking at the lock-in kiss and what it meant for her because that was so long ago in an Internet paced world. And maybe it was painful in some way as the truth sometimes is.

Sam and Freddie missed each other. Neither did anything about it, however. After the talk that dark and stormy night they brought Gibby back, they both settled into a kind of cloaked groove that neither liked but neither fought. To look at them you would never know they had swapped spit and flirted with trading hands.

Sam watched as Freddie counted them out when they finished streaming iCarly:

"And we are clear," he said, checking the console display of his PearBook.

Sam was normally not afraid of much, but for a while now Freddie filled her with fear. First had been the terror of the attraction to him, then the lock-in and all it meant, then the fear of being crazy, then the fear that she was attracted to someone with whom she couldn't get along, then the fear that they didn't work as a couple, then the fear that he was dating someone else. It was kind of numbing that the nub king could inspire such relentless anxiety in her. She looked at him across the room, packing up his cables and the fear of what she was about to do inflated her like a balloon. She dialed her inner Puckett up to eleven and approached him.

Sam generated an intense kinetic wave in front of her as she rushed up, "Benson, do you have $250.00?"

He felt the force of her and the effect it had on his heart rate, he had gotten very good at hiding it, "Sure, in my college fund," he answered calmly, winding up a black cable, slyly taking in her curves, furtively absorbing the girlness of her. He felt a slight shame and Lower Freddie smiled.

"Can you get it?" she asked brightly.

He continued winding cable as he explained, "Sam, by saying 'in my college fund' I was subtly telling you, the money is off limits."

She rolled her eyes, "That's dumb. Why have money that you can't use?" The fear of the ask was gone and she felt the frustration she always felt with him. How did he rile her up like this? Nothing had changed, they were just hiding it again. Or she was.

"I can use it when I go to college," he said it pleasantly as if he were explaining something simple, like red means stop, green means go. She felt her irritation growing.

"What if you die before you get to college?" she asked, daring to cross brains with him. That was the same, she had no fear of his mind. She would always bet on her gut reaction and vulpine shrewdness over his calm reasoning.

"Then I have a better funeral and a minor casket upgrade," he said it with his Freddie smirk face, the so very kissable smirk face. She laughed at his words, and the realization that she missed laughing with him spilled inside her like some scalding liquid. When they dated they laughed a lot when they weren't fighting or kissing.

Freddie really liked to make her laugh. Her white toothed smile was hypnotic, even the slight flaws in her young features sank hooks into him. But her laugh was addictive, like some candy he couldn't get his fill of. When she laughed and seemed pleased by his actions he understood how desperate people could become when they needed some fix, when he made her laugh he felt good about everything. He shook that off.

And each of them hid on their own side of this strange divide, pretending that things were just as they had been before The Kiss.

"So can you get the money?" she said to him.

He made a face, seeing the seriousness of her question he stopped packing the cables and focused on her. "What are you looking to buy?" he asked.

She felt oddly aroused with those brown eyes on her and she blinked to clear her head. "Tickets to Richard Avalon."

Freddie squeezed the black cable involuntarily, "Richard Avalon?" As the contempt filled his voice he realized this kind of reaction was not part of his friendly demeanor with post-Freddie Sam.

"Yeah," she felt the anger rising. She hated to justify herself, especially to Freddie and that text book right-and-wrong brain of his. But anger with him was something she had to control. She saw him twitching on Nora's floor as she shocked him. She didn't want to hurt him again, but she honestly wasn't sure how to stop, so powerful was the need to react to him.

Freddie continued in a mocking tone, "Richard Avalon, the guy who says things like, 'I'm seeing a toilet,' and someone in the audience gets all excited, and says, 'Incredible, I used a toilet once!' Then he tells them that their dead mother loved them and they should be happy? THAT Richard Avalon?"

Sam's eyes narrowed to lethal slits. It was like he got her, he understood her, and didn't like what he saw. She let her breath out through her nose and she heard a slight, shrill whistle.

"Dude, he talks to dead people."

"So? I can too, watch this," He turned and shouted to his left, "Hey! George Washington, thanks for being the father of our country and starting America!" Carly and Gibby both looked up from the props they were packing, exchanged questioning glances then returned to cleaning up after the black currant jelly they had smeared on his back. To his credit he had guessed correctly what it was.

Sam felt her anger simmer, like those heat waves curling up off a hot highway, when they dated she had insisted he watch ViewTube video of mysterious fins that might be mermaids. He had been skeptical of her interests. What did she miss about this nerdy-nubby-geek?

"Sam, Avalon is a rip-off artist, a fake who preys on sad or grieving people who want to hear something good." And inside, Freddie wanted to go see Richard Avalon. Freddie wanted to hear something good. Freddie wanted to believe in Something Bigger than this life he was living. He hid it well, but most of all he really wanted to kiss this blond girl who had dismissed him. He wanted her to ache for him the way he ached for her.

She gave him The Look. The same cold stare when he suggested that some things were more important than ham. At one time she would have slapped him.

"So, how do I get the money if you won't give it to me?"

"Uh, get a job?"

"No, the show is Friday night, I'd have to sell drugs or do something illegal and that would make y-Carly real mad. I was thinking, you have Man Swab number one, right?"

Hi eyebrow jerked up, "I have ManSwordnumber one, yes," he corrected her with a glowing pride in his voice. His mind's eye summoned up the red and blue text announcing "ManSword! The blade that walks! The Living Saber, He Cuts! He Kisses! ManSword! The hero with an edge."

She was unable to suppress a smile at his serious tone, "You told me that was worth like $600.00 right?"

He looked at her as if she had just unzipped her neck and Spencer stepped out of a Sam costume, "Are you asking me to sell ManSword number one and give you the money?"

She resisted the urge to answer with, "you're not as dumb as you look," and simply said, "yes."

"Are you planning on paying me back?"

"Sure, I always plan to pay you back."

"I don't want a trampoline."

She crossed her arms and leveled her gaze at him, "Well? What's it gonna be boy?"

"I'm not selling one of the jewels of my comic collection so you can have some liar tell you you're dead grandmother J'Mam Maw is watching over you."

"J'Mam Maw is still alive."

"Then you have some time to get a job and earn the $250.00."

She stared at him even harder, trying to wear him down with those blue eyes. She had eyes like those beaches where you can see the sandy bottom through the blue water. Did she know the power her eyes had now?

The blue was powerful but he held his ground, his thinking a childish mix of, _What would ManSword do?_ And a wounded, _Sam doesn't love you that way—get off this train!_

A grim silence expanded, a noiseless sucking thing that filled the strange gap between them. Each stood behind their masks in the quiet.

Finally she made an "oh well" face and turned away. Like the night of the lock-in he watched her walk away. It was incredible, but he'd just won an argument with Sam Puckett. He looked around the iCarly studio. Nothing had changed.

Nothing.

Everything went back to the way it was before Sam and Freddie dated—sort of.

Meanwhile, in another part of town...

* * *

><p>In Seattle they call it the "Murder House." It sits at the top of a lonely, weathered mound called Whisper Hill. There the rain never stops and the sprawling mansion winds through groves of withered trees on blistered ground where the grass grows in brown clumps if it grows at all.<p>

The gigantic estate was put together over years by different owners who tore wings out and constructed additions in a kind of architectural surgery ultimately making a monster of mortar and brick. Despite the great artists that have designed and renovated it, it is still an ugly property that defies every effort at beautification. The building is chaotic and random, like a toddler's art project, while the grounds are a mad assortment of exotic grasses, vines and blossoms that cannot cling to life, as if the earth was steeped in poison. It sits like a scab that refuses to heal, like something born unattractive that has grown quite comfortable with its own repulsive appearance.

It gained the name "Murder House," because over the hundred years since it was first stood up many people died in its rooms and on the property. Some deaths were natural, the end of the human clock, some accidental, a tumble down a magnificent cherry wood staircase to a hand carved granite floor, others self-inflicted as several broken hearted lovers dangled from oak rafters or welcomed the black tunnel in browning water cooling in exotic marble tubs. Some were peacefully slaughtered in their sleep, perhaps dead in their dreams at the moment of Conclusion. The blood sprays from the child murders have been soaped away and painted over, but the memories and rumors and legends soaked in that crimson splatter have settled in local minds and throb with the strange life that stories of death have. The tales are truths stretched like hot glass in new shapes that twist the light and distort the images that pass through. There was no woman who killed her entire family while they slept, but some stories were too pure to tell, hidden away by the wealthy, swept under expensive imported carpets that could not mask the smell of something very, very bad. The accounts go deep as weed roots, told on stoops to frighten pretty girls or repeated in hushed tones by children with flashlights under their faces.

The facts about Murder House are harder to come by. The names of the various owners and architects, the workers who built it or remodeled it, even the litany of dead whose lives tumbled away within are lost except to the grieving and pages of paper that yellow and grow brittle as they sit unread on dusty shelves or float in the digital eternity of computer storage. But even casual visitors have experienced fear and dread, enigmatic sights and cold touches without physical explanation. Something very strange continues to this day in Murder House.

If your life does not end in Murder House then it surely changes there; at least that is what is said.

Murder House sits in the cold Seattle rain, waiting for new blood to arrive.

Murder House is waiting on Sam and Freddie.

**A/N I used the mermaids from Oceanmistsupporter's "Nursing Our Broken Seddie Hearts" without permission because this is FanFiction and I can do that. **

**Next chapter's working title is: "Freddie Versus the Pirate Troll." Not sure about when it will arrive. I will not let the ticking of the clock as we come to December 21****st**** drive me but I will try to beat the Mayan Conclusion.**

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